Please don't judge me...

I make my mother proud on a daily basis. This evening, in fact, she was thrilled over my grasp of medical jargon as I used the word VASECTOMY at dinner (at which she punched me in the arm and said “That is NOT a lovely thing to mention!”). Just for the fun of it, I proceeded to repeat VASECTOMY at regular intervals during the meal. It’s a fun word to say! You should try it some time!

I also like to toss in things like “HOT SEX!” and “VAGINA!” and “FART!” just to throw her off. Flustering my mom is like a sport, and I’m the only player. And I always win.

For all of her quirks (and perhaps because of them) my mom is widely loved by everyone who knows her. We grew up and still live in the small hamlet of Los Altos where you can’t walk down the street without seeing someone familiar, and my mom knows EVERYONE. And if she doesn’t, she regards them with deep suspicion until she DOES. Which usually takes about five minutes – and then she gets such rich details as to the state of their colons, if they like their in-laws and if they vote Republican.

The other day, she and I were going into a new shop…the proprietor was new to Los Altos, but had passed my mothers rigorous inspection. (She not only poops regularly but also didn't like Clinton and has a mother who has been married seven times). Armed with this important information, we walked in. The woman immediately came over to greet my mother…looking over at me, she said “This must be your daughter!”

Used to my spouting off something inappropriate, my mother decided to take preemptive action. So before I could work the word “PENIS!” into the conversation she said:

“This is my daughter Jen. She’s mildly retarded. Please don’t judge me…I did my best.”

Touché, mom. Well played.