Easy Rider

Mom was complaining to me last night about this new 80-year old woman who is a new resident at the nursing home. Apparently she likes to plaster on the makeup and has this annoying habit of applying mascara during mealtime. Not being able to take it anymore, my mom issued her an ultimatum: Either you take that bag off the table and put it on the floor where I don’t have to see it or I’m gonna throw it across the room! None of those old ladies can mess with my mom and the lady took her bag off the table.

Mom went on to tell me how this new resident has a son who doesn’t work and looks like a big dummy (her words, not mine!). He was in the other day wearing a Harley-Davidson t-shirt which caught my mom’s eye because she used to be a bona-fide Harley Mamma. Overhearing that he was telling his mom that he just bought a really nice bike, my mother poked her nose in where it doesn’t belong and asked, “What kind of bike is it?” “Oh, it’s really lightweight.” She asked, “Is it a low-rider or a full-dressed?” He looked at her and said, “Well, it’s kinda tubular.”

Turns out Junior spent $80 on a Huffy…not a Harley.

This revelation turned into a little rant from my mother about what a loser this son is and how he shouldn’t be wearing Harley Davidson t-shirts unless he actually owns a motorcycle. I try to reason with her that he can wear whatever he wants to wear, but that only made her angrier.

“Did you know he brought up his mother a lousy bag of Cheetos the other day? She doesn’t need Cheetos–what she needs is underwear! Big deal. A bag of Cheetos. What’s that cost him? 89 cents? The woman needs clothes.”

But somehow this new resident who is light in the clothes department manages to be heavy in the bright red lipstick department of which my mother doesn’t approve and wears too much eyeshadow. “She doesn’t need to wear all that crap!” says my mother indignantly. And I wonder to myself how many times I’ve bitten my tongue over the freak-show makeup combinations my Mother manages once the Avon lady delivers her monthly order. Or all the rings she wears on her fingers that make her look like a fortune teller.

But in all seriousness, I really wish I could have been there to see the look on my mom’s face when the old lady’s son told my mom proudly about his ten-speed. That would have been priceless. Or at the very least…worth 89 cents.

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