Conversations with my mother can be
disturbing (Check out my recent post What Do You Believe In?) but she also
makes me laugh. I call every morning to check on her. This morning’s
conversation went like this: “Good morning, Mom. What are you doing?”
“Same as always. Surviving.”
Surviving is her favorite response when asked what she’s doing. “You sound a bit
listless. You okay?”
“Just tired. Couldn’t sleep last night.”
“Anything bothering you?”
“I’m eighty-seven years old. EVERYTHING
bothers me.”
“Anything interesting happening at The
Lodge?” The Lodge is the name of her
retirement facility.
“Yes. We’re getting free HMO for a few
days.”
“Free HMO?”
“Yes, on the TV.”
“Do you mean HBO?”
“Stop with the constant corrections. You know what I mean.”
“Sorry.”
“So last night I watched Libyan
porn.”
Not something one expects to hear from
their mother. “Libyan porn?”
“That’s what I said.”
Complaining about her retirement home’s TV
programming is one of her favorite pastimes. “Mom, I doubt you were
getting porn from Libya. I seriously doubt Libya is exporting porn these days. And if
they were, your cable provider would probably charge you extra for it.”
“Did I say Libyan porn? That isn’t what I
meant. I meant Lisbon porn.”
“You’re watching Portuguese people having
sex?”
I could hear her sigh into the receiver.
“Lisping porn! You know—two women.”
After letting my mind wrap itself around
the notion of lisping porn, I decided to shut her down before this got out of
control. “Are you telling me you were watching lesbian porn last night?”
“Yes. And they were leaving nothing to the
imagination. Hour after hour—they wouldn’t quit.”
“So that’s why you’re so tired? You
couldn’t sleep because you were up all night watching lesbian porn?”
She didn’t answer my question. “You get
HMO TV don’t you?”
I nodded at the receiver in my hand and
let out a wary, “Yeees.” I had a bad feeling about where this was going.
“Do you ever watch porn on TV?”
“Absolutely not. Besides, the Internet is
packed with porn. I can see anything I want 24/7 on the computer.” Yes, I’m
really that stupid.
“Is that what you do all day on that
computer? Watch porn? You told me you were writing on the blog thingy of
yours.”
My mother is an expert at changing the
subject, but this time I wasn’t about to let her. “Wait just a minute here.
YOU’RE the one watching porn, not me.”
“Well, maybe you and your wife (she seldom
calls Mrs. Chatterbox by name) should check out this TV porn. Not the lisping
kind; the regular kind. God knows you
should exercise more, burn off a few calories.”
“Mom?”
“Yes, son?”
“Could we please change the subject?”
