She went on to say that the farm they own was going into foreclosure (news to me) and since she had just lost her job (I already knew about that part), there was no way they could save it. She sounded like she was crying something fierce and through her sobs, she said that they owed years of back taxes as well and if they didn’t pay up, they would go to jail. Of course, I remembered that it was April Fool’s Day, so at first, I was not buying her story. When I called her on it, she got extremely upset and chided me for even thinking that she would make up something so heinous (I would make it up for a good prank and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree).
So, as she’s rambling on and on, her sob story became more of a reality. She asked if her and Ted (my stepfather) could come live with us until they got back on their feet. After all, she said Ted was getting too old to farm anymore and he really should retire. She was so damn convincing (guess she learned from the pro – me), that I finally bought the whole shit and caboodle. Then I was the one crying! Selfish as it is for me to say, I love my mom, but I was cringing at the thought of them coming to live here.
Don’t get me wrong, my stepfather is a nice, down-to-earth, good-‘ol-boy (and when I say down-to-earth – I mean, he always carries part of the earth around with him on his clothes, body, hair, you name it – a cloud of dirt follows him everywhere). When my mom first met him, his farmhouse (on a good day) looked more petrifying than any of the houses I’ve seen on the worst day of Hoarders. The man refuses to throw anything away. For this very reason, I always bring my own food when I visit (and Clorox wipes), and ipecac syrup just in case one of the kids eats something from the horse/cow fridge (or even the house fridge – there are live colonies abound in that thing). Needless to say, the thought of them moving in with us just rocked my world (and NOT in a good way).
As we wrapped up our phone conversation, I still held out a glimmer of hope that this was all an evil prank and my mom would come clean. However, we hung up the phone and she never ‘fessed up. Immediately, I called my sis (slinky) who lives near my mom and she corroborated mother’s story. She said that she’d take them in but since she is a single mom with a very small house, she just doesn’t have any room to spare. At this point, I’m shitting my pants (literally – almost) because one of my biggest nightmares is coming true (besides being seen with wild Bride of Frankenstein hair).
As I’m running around like a nut (per usual), trying to concoct a legitimate reason as to why they cannot come live here, my mind is flooded with ideas: maybe I can set the spare bedroom ablaze (no – too risky as to keeping it confined to just that room, plus, my stepfather might like it sooty); maybe I could fake a bout of anthrax (no - they have worse stuff than that trolling their refrigerators so that certainly wouldn’t scare them off); maybe we can pack up the house under cover of darkness and move to an undisclosed location under assumed identities (too covert – plus, I checked – we don’t qualify for the witness protection program). Anyhow, I never claimed they were good ideas…
About an hour passes, and just as I’m contemplating falling off the wagon and going out to get a triple Whopper, quadruple-sized fries, a super gulp (64 oz. frozen cherry coke), and an entire box of Ho-Hos (Ho-Hos fix everything) for lunch, the phone rings. It was mom. She couldn’t take it anymore and ‘fessed to the prank. She said she had intended to keep it going for a few days, but she was thinking about holy week (she’s a good Catholic – now, at least – maybe that’s where I don’t get it), and how even though she so owed me for years of delinquency, jokes, and riotous pranks, she just couldn’t keep it going. How sweet of her! Not! She, of all people, should know how I overreact and blow things out of proportion (just a tad). As idiotically impulsive as I am, she’s lucky I didn’t sledgehammer the walls down (I checked – we don’t own a sledgehammer and neighbor wasn’t home to borrow), or worse, paint the walls Steelers colors (no black paint to be found).
Little does she know that, she, with the aid and abetting of snaky slinky sis, would have been responsible for my food suicide (OK – it would have been my fault since I can’t control my urges, but they would have assisted in the suicide - and Kevorkian was guilty). All I can say, is they better watch their back…the day isn’t over yet.
