My mom came down today, we had lunch, and then went shopping. Here are some excerpts from my day:
Mom: Is that the dress you can see through?
Mom: Yes, it is.
Mom: (she touches my hair and wrinkles her nose)
Me: What? It isn’t crunchy!
Mom: Yes, it is.
Mom: I just don’t understand why you do that when you have such pretty hair.
Me: Really? Because everything you say belies that…
Mom: (indicating dried flower-type arrangement) What are those things?
Me: I don’t know.
Mom: What do you mean, you don’t know?
Me: I mean don’t know. I got them at Michael’s.
Mom: You paid money for those? They look like wood shavings.
Me: You are a joy, you know that?
The best part of my day, though, came when I, in an attempt to learn more about my parents, I asked my mom (in front of El Cap’s mom) when she and my dad started dating. And that’s when I thought, for a moment, I had a whole extra year. Then I realized it was going the other way…
Let’s walk through the math.
My mom told me today she met my dad when she was 21, in September, dated him for four years, and then had me nine months after they got married. She was born in 1945. 1945+21=1966, which means if she had me four years and nine months later, I was born in December 1971.
I initially though this made me 38, not 39 (I’m really not a math person), and I was pretty excited, until I sat down and did the math.
Of course, the story changes. When I pressed her on this, she said that she must have met him in 1968. That, of course, didn’t gel with her insistence that she met him when she was 21, so now all she will say is she dated him “until got married”, which she’s stubbornly still insists is 1972.
It’s cool. I’m 38. Awesome. Except, of course, I’m not. I’m 41. Almost. I missed my entire 40th birthday, and I didn’t even get a party. Also, I waited a whole year longer to drink than I had to.
Also, I’m pretty sure El Cap’s mom has no clue what to think of my family. Probably that we’re nuts. Which is not wholly untrue.