The Gummer and I got into an argument today. It escalated to the point that I used the two words which indicate that things have gone too far: Christina Crawford. I stormed out. She stormed out. Fifteen minutes later, we ran into each other at the grocery store. That's how love is.
One of the reasons that she and I argue so much is that we are simply not compatible personality types. I get mad that she isn't more like me, and she gets jealous that she can't be more like me. (Okay, no. She gets mad that I am not more like her.) Another reason that she and I argue so much is that she cannot follow the basic rules of debate. She just kind of hi-YAs all over the place, and I end up losing debates that should totally have been in my pocket. It is very much like dealing with a toddler who has missed naptime or a special ed student who has gone off the rails. I keep saying that I should I get a bracelet with "DNE" engraved in it: "Do Not Engage". As the saying goes "I do not have to attend every argument I'm invited to". As my track record shows, I do not know when to throw in the towel.
So, fifteen minutes after we made our dramatic "Exit Stage Left"s, she was pulling a shopping cart out of the corral (or whatever the hell it is) at our local Schnuck's supermarket while I was shouting, "I know YOU!" She replied, "I do not know you." False, Gummitor! I just cashed in the lottery ticket my son got you to buy me for Mother's Day. I've got $2 that says our Kevin Bacon has a common biscuit. (What?)
Anyway, so the Schnuck's thing was cute. I also keep reminding myself that, after 40 years, I am familiar with the product. I am the dumbass who gets in the ring with Ginsu Gummitor despite a clearly established list of warning signs and hot topics. (Not Hot Pockets. Hot Pockets are yummy. (But then, maybe they turn on you, too.)) "Why does this room smell like piss and vinegar? Oh, yes... let's discuss The Mythical Garage Sale That Has So Many Issues Attached To It." Yes, Billy Joel. I oughtta know by now. I oughtta do more cardio, too. Whatever.
While I was waiting for The Boy to arrive via autobus (post-Schnuck's encounter), I decided to stop seething and focus on good things about The Gummer. Here are five memories that make me happy:
1. For Halloween in pre-school, she dressed me up like the Carol Burnett cleaning lady. (Yeah, there's the cleaning thing again. Ignore it.) I had a little bucket, a broom, and a hairnet. I like the idea of her being a young, goofy parent. I like the idea of her being more like me. (It's my blog, and I am saying that I'm young. Leave it alone.)
2. When I started college, she sent me anonymous notes to wish me good luck. They were on floral note paper, and she disguised her handwriting. She denied writing the notes until I told her I was writing about them tonight.
3. She attended the videotaped poetry reading in my Women's Studies class. (Disclaimer: It was not poetry that I had written. My poetry is AWESOME. This was some Vagina Monologue knockoff. It was like The Fauxgina Dialogues.) In the video, she is watching us read these goofy, womyny poems like it's the most enlightening arrangement of vowels and consonants and vaginas ever. She continues to make this "Oh, how interesting!" face as I float across the stage and say some hippy-dippy vaginal-babbling crap about orgasms. (Again, I didn't write the poetry.) What a good sport! Taking one for the vag.
4. (Backgroud info: 1. It is a 10 - 12 hour drive from Athens (where I used to live) to Collinsville. I almost always drove straight through. 2. I have ADHD. When I don't take Adderall, I say stuff. That's why I take the Adderall.) Once after I arrived home from Athens, The Gummer was showing me what they had that I might want for a snack: bologna, leftover peas, something in a styrofoam container... She held up a bag of Poppycock, and I impulsively announced: "Cock!" The face she made was awesome. She was shocked and amused, but not upset at all. What a good sport! Taking one for the...
5. On the first night that I brought Jack to Collinsville, he slept in a playpen-type thing in my room. I woke up in the middle of the night and The Gummer was there, standing over the playpen like an apparition. She was just looking at Jack and smiling. There was a sweetness about her that... Well, I was not familiar with this version of her. Apparently, we had met before. She has said that she checked on us all night long when we were little. This Gummer is the one who dressed me up like Carol Burnett. Maybe it was easier for her when I was little, and now she's kind of like "Gummer, Interrupted". Put those clothes back, Winona. There's nothing to hide.
So there's that. Maybe I should save my money and forget about the "Do Not Engage" bracelet. I mean, she's family. How can I say no?
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