I was at High Dive in Park Slope the other night when my mom called me to ask if I had seen her passport.

"In what context would I have seen your passport?" I wondered.

"Well I think it's in the purse I used last summer, have you seen that around?"

"Ummmm....around YOUR house? I don't think so. What does it look like?"

"Oh that's the other thing..." Her voice grows sheepish. "Do you remember what purse I used last summer?"

"Mom I don't remember what purse I used yesterday."

"Oh c'mon! How can you not remember? At least tell me what color it was."

"Mom, I genuinely have no idea what...wait. Why do you need your passport anyway?"

"Oh because we're going to Canada next week."

"Who, you and Dad?"

"Me, your Dad, your Aunt Peggy, your Uncle Bob. We're leaving after the big family family bbq upstate this weekend."

"What big family bbq?"

She laughs.

"Mom! Why didn't you tell me about a big family bbq?"

"Well it's not THAT big...just me, your dad, your aunt and uncle, your brother...cousin Tommy, Lynn, the twins of course, your Uncle Artie, that nice priest from Good Shepherd..."


"Well you know your father, he's always so voluminous..."

"Huh? Did you just call Dad fat?"

"What...ok I gotta...ok I gotta go. Your dad's going to kill me. And you should go home, you sound like you've been drinking."

And then she hangs up.

Then today she called me and yelled at me for not buying a train ticket upstate yet.

I'm half her, people. It's totally not my fault that I use my sock drawer to store unpaid bills.


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