Pussy Whipped

During Easter brunch at my house this year, my mom told us she had to go to the emergency room when she was nineteen years old for severe stomach pain.  Apparently, a resident doctor came in to examine her and coldly informed her that she was in the final stages of gonorrhea and that she would never have children.  My mortified mom called and informed “everyone” of her tragic diagnosis only to have her appendix burst two weeks later.  Oops.  Omg. I would have f’ing paid to see the faces of her hippie boyfriends when they got that phone call.  Sooooo funny. 

Anyway, talk about some good luck.  Dying of peritonitis is so much classier then death by gonorrhea.  I told her she should have marched all four of us kids into that doctor’s office years later and been like, “Thanks a lot asshole,” while pointing her thumb over her shoulder at us.  But seriously, I am so glad my mom did not die of an STD since she is-was one of my favorite people in the whole wide world.

As you may recall, I recently forced my mother to adopt Mr. Whiskerpuss, my cat, because of my kid’s allergies.  A few days ago, I decided to swing by and visit him while my mom was at work.  I opened the door and saw Mr. Whiskerpuss waiting eagerly.  He walked over, sniffed me and promptly walked away in a cold and aloof manner much as anyone whose mother abruptly and unexpectedly gave them away would.

I knelt down beside him and told him “how sorry I was” and that “I know it is not the same” but that his new “mom is doing the best she can” even though “we will always share an irreplaceable bond.”  The cat just stared at me like I was just some dumb bitch he had never seen before.  Puzzled I thought to myself, “Am I fucking high or was I not the heroine that rescued him from an expensive pet store with Mike’s credit card?”

And then I looked up and gasped in horror at what my mother, or should I say, traitor, had done.  Everywhere I looked there were cat toys, organic treats, scratching posts, perches, cat caviar flown in from Europe, cashmere cat beds, brushes, special “no-hurt” nail clippers, perfumed litter boxes and on and on and on....  My eyes narrowed in disgust at the deceit before me.  My MOTHER had clearly purchased Mr. Whiskerpuss’ love and affections.  I stared at him in disbelief as he arrogantly looked up from licking his paw while leisurely lounging on his four hundred dollar cat chaise lounge to purr “Fuck Yoooooooou” to me.  I slammed the door and left.

After I bought myself a new purse and calmed down I decided to make a list of the things my mom had said to me lately which I had naively discounted not realizing that she had turned into one of those mood ring wearing, cat ladies.  The following are actual statements made by my mother:

-          “It is a blizzard outside but I just have to run up to Wal-Mart and get Mr. Whiskerpuss some ping-pong balls.  I read on the Internet that cats love to play with them in the bathtub!”

-          “I just bought Mr. Whiskerpuss a new blue sapphire collar to match his eyes.  I had to go to three different stores until I found just the right color.”

-          “I am so excited that I don’t have to work on Saturday so Mr. Whiskerpuss and I can have some alone time.  Maybe the grandkids could play another day.”

-          “I am looking on the Internet for a Kitty Bjourn.  He cries if I don’t carry him everywhere.”

-          “I am watching that show about bad cats on cable right now, can I call you back?”

-          “I am watching a show about cuddly kittens on Animal Planet right now, can I call you back?”

-          “Ohmigod! I just made plaster mold of Mr. Whiskerpuss’ paw prints!  He is getting so big!” 

Well as far as I am concerned those two deserve each other.  Freaks. 

Annnnnd lastly, a couple weeks ago my back was hurting more than usual so I went to the doctor, who is incidentally a friend of ours.  As in- we have been to Las Vegas with him and his wife and shared many a delightful dinner together.  Anywho, I took the kids to school, swung by Starbucks and slammed a cup of coffee.  I arrived at his office and realized I totally had to shit but since I am not a public pooper, this was simply out of the question.  I would just have to wait.

My doctor came in, examined my back blah blah blah and then said, “Well, let’s just take some x-rays real quick to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself seriously since you have those rods in there.”  (I had scoliosis surgery as a teenager)  Sure, whatever.  I put on a gown, had some x-rays taken and waited for him to come back into the room.

Doctor: Well, I wouldn’t want your back that’s for sure annnnnnd you totally have to take a shit don’t you?

Me:        Nnnnnnnnn-Okay Yes.  (Me avoiding eye contact)

Doctor:  Yeah, I can see it on your x-ray.  That happens with skinny people. (Laughing)

Me:          Um, could you please leave now.  I am going to try and jump from your exam table and kill myself.

I gathered up my stuff and left the room only to discover the majority of his staff, most of which are patients of my husband, Mike’s, gathered around my x-rays laughing.  Oh please.  I know you all shit too.  XO

Ps- Sending Boston and our world immense amounts of love.  I trust with every ounce of my being that we can alter the course.  We most definitely can change this world for the betterment of one another, how FUN would that be?  My love to each of you!  Have a beautiful weekend!!!!! 

PPs- I love you mom.  You are so fabulous in every way.