Come on Join the Bloodsport

Yesterday I spoke to my mother, and in true fashion the conversation turned to her nefarious children. One of her coworkers, Mindy, was fishing for information about my brother and me.  My mom tried to be evasive, but Mindy is an expert at manipulation, and she’ll stop at nothing to stick it to my mother in any way she can.

This woman has three boys whom she thinks are the greatest things since sliced bread.  (Highly unlikely.)  These boys are not that bright, but somehow their mother finagled spots form them in gifted classes (by holding them back a year in school so they could mature and test better).  They attended small private colleges far away from our prestigious in-state schools.  With her last child, Tad, she boasted to the local paper about his success after graduating college in just three years until they agreed to do a feature on him.  My mom wonders if she wrote the article herself.  (Very likely.)

So Mindy hounded my mom in the teachers’ lounge at lunch.  They were in line to microwave their meager Weight Watchers’ meals when she began her assault.

“How’s your daughter these days?”

“She’s fine.”

“Still working on that book?”

(Let me interject—I had no idea my mother even told her coworkers that I want to be a writer—she has a hard time even admitting it out loud.  When I talk about writing she usually inquires if I spend my time writing letters.  Sometimes I say yes.  Depending on my level of snark, we usually get in a fight…)

“I guess so.  She’s busy though, so I don’t know how much time she has to dedicate to it.”

“What is she doing?”  Mindy asked.  I can imagine her looking down her nose at my mother.

“She works for the university.”

“Oh!  Doing what?”

“Ooh!  It’s my turn at the microwave.”  My mother made an elaborate show of putting her food in, I’m sure.  She completely ignored the last question.

“How’s your son doing?  Is he still practicing music?”

“No.”  At this point my mother was probably looking for shiny objects to distract Mindy.

“Is he still living at home.”

“Yep.”

“Well, that’s good!  Tad is so homesick since his girlfriend is still in school—he graduated in three years you know—and well, he’s working in the city for My Kid Is Better Than Yours Company, so he doesn’t have much time to visit her or come home, because he’s the youngest (dipshit) in his company to get promoted to Junior (Asswipe) Executive.”

“That’s the timer for my food!  See ya, Mindy!”  My mom couldn’t get out of their fast enough.

Upon my mother relaying the conversation to me, I asked her why she just wasn’t honest with Mindy.  It would have been so awesome if the conversation went more like this:

“How are your kids?”

“They’re great!  My daughter is a secretary and my son is a stoner.  How are your kids, Mindy?”

I think honesty is the best policy.  I would have killed to see the look on Mindy’s face.  Priceless.