My Mom Cracks Me Up
My mother cracks me up. The woman is hilarious. And she doesn’t even try. I was talking on the phone with one of my friend’s the other day and she told me something that my Mom had confided in her. Information I was as of yet unaware of. I always feel a little bit of trepidation in those kinds of situations. After all, I might not want to trouble my mind with unwanted information. Especially about my mother, but once the thought of revealing information has come into play there’s no way I can let go. I need to know. My imagination would only come up with something much worse.
I braced myself, listened and felt a sense of relief. It turned out that my Mom had told her about a time when she was about fifteen years old and she had gone camping with one of her friends and her family. They camped out in a shack and slept in bunk beds. My Mom slept in a bottom bunk while her friend’s older sister who was sixteen shared the top bunk with her boyfriend.
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse, unless you count the rattling of the bed that is. My mother’s friend’s sister and her boyfriend had themselves a little role in the hay. My Mom who was pretty innocent, despite her age, had no idea what all these moans and grunts meant. She thought that the sister’s boyfriend was hurting her. At any rate, she was unsure about what the hell was happening, all she knew is that it freaked her out.
My mother left the cottage and went to sit by lake to have herself a little cry. Where are the laughs you might be asking yourself at this point in the story? They came later when I was talking to my mom and I mentioned that my friend had told me something about her that she wasn’t supposed to tell me. Oh boy, did the wheels in my Mom’s head start spinning. Before I had a chance to say anything else, she tried to remember everything that she had told my friend. When I did tell her what new piece of information I had she seemed relieved, which in turn made me wonder what the hell else I didn’t know.
I told my Mom I thought she was pretty old at fifteen to not know what the hell was going on. Her answer: “Well, you know, when they’re really ramming it…” I pulled the phone way from my ear and screamed “I never ever want to hear you say ‘ramming it’ ever again.” Ramming it. Damn, that’s not something you want to hear your mom say. Believe me. Of course, she immediately started reminiscing about the time she stayed at my place and she could hear me getting down and dirty in the next room. I lived in a two bedroom apartment at the time and my roommate was gone for a week, which is when my Mom came for a surprise visit. I wasn’t exactly pleased, because this week also coincided with the week the guy I had I my eye on suddenly and temporarily found himself available.
I’m not comfortable having sex with my Mom around. It makes me feel totally inhibited. I don’t care that we’re both grown ups and I don’t even care that I advocate a more liberated attitude when it comes to sexuality. This is just one of those hang ups I’m happy to live with. More than happy. I had been as quiet as a mouse, but apparently the bed we were on was making the dresser rattle against the wall that separated our bedrooms. A fact that she likes to remind me off. My mother has the worse memory in the world except when it comes to the things I wish she would forget.