It wasn’t really a challenge in any way. Don’t imagine her searching through files or using some fancy device to crack my not so sophisticated password. I pretty much handed her my laptop with the blog open.
Don’t think me weak. She is a conversational wizard and I’m almost entirely sure she is a Jedi. If the army ever needed an interrogator who could make the enemy blurt out the information needed just by the art psychological manipulation, they should pay a visit to my house. Anyways, besides the fact that she is intimidating, it was mainly a strange feeling of guilt that made me tell her I had written a blog about her. Her eyes opened dramatically.
I had no choice you see. I had to free myself from the heavy feeling that I had somehow betrayed her confidence by comparing her to Stalin and Bin Laden. The confession did little to subside that feeling. In fact, it made it mutate into a deformed version of dread.
“Let me read it.”
“Umm…” I desperately sought for clever excuses that would distract her eagerness. It didn’t work. “I don’t think you wanna do that.”
“Bring it now.”
This went on for a bit but not to the point where it was irrelevant. With every now, she wore me down, like a spell she had casted on me that gradually became more forceful. Told you she was a Jedi.
As I came back down the stairs while cradling my laptop, I kept saying: Please have a sense of humor, please have a sense of humor.... As I could, as well, create a wondrous spell that could turn people into easygoing, hippie-ish potheads. I hear potheads find comedy in everything.
“Don’t be mad,” I commanded pathetically as she began to read.
I sat behind her trying to follow the sentence she was reading at the moment, desperately praying she wouldn’t be offended, or even worse, that she’d be disappointed that I’d be using my skill to publicly trash her. A few minutes later, her shoulders moved up and down continuously as she let out a laughing snort.
“You…bitch!” she said while laughing hysterically. I assumed she got to the Bin Laden part.
The rest of the reading went on similarly, with snorts and insults and strange questions that were always replied by more questions.
Mom: What the hell?
Me: Where you up to?
Mom: Who the hell is Stan Lee?!
Me: Are you seriously asking me that?
Mom: Why are you only talking about me?!
Me: What do you mean?
Mom: Why aren’t you talking about your brothers?
Mom: Why don’t I have any writing talent?
Mom: Shouldn’t the world know the truth about you as well?
Mom, let’s not get carried away. But she is right. Somehow I was going to complain about the entire dysfunctional dynamic my family has become accostumed to and I ended up singling Mom out. So unfair. Yet if I had gone on about the complex, impossible to explain, always surprising behavior my brothers engage in, it would have been about thirty pages.
That afternoon, Mom sent me a text. I was perplexed because as far as I knew, Mom was downstairs watching TV while I was in my room innocently browsing the web. Even so, I read the text message.
Mom: Go rent a movie.
Her powers also work via cell phone.
I found it strange she wouldn’t go up to my room to ask me. Was she mad?
Me: Are you giving me the silent treatment?
E? What the hell is E? Maybe she meant to write YES but her fingers slipped or her brain froze temporarily.
Mom: I’m slowly getting annoyed before I roar and attack you.
Passive aggressive treatment, eh? I had to get her back.
Me: Noooooo Bin Laden!
In short, Mom isn’t mad although she brings it up in front of people probably to make me look like a horrible daughter. She also said that she knows how to access my blog now so I better not write anything else about her and if I do, I must let you all know the truth about my brothers as well.
That will be a treat to write.
PS: I was invited to a family party next weekend, so my genius plan to decrease the frequency I have to look like I’m antisocial failed.