“Hey, Ma? Wanna go out to eat tonight?” I ask my 79 year old mother.
“Do you want to go out to dinner tonight?”
“Do YOU…” I yell, pausing as my mom leans in closer.
“WANT TO…” She begins to nod her head slowly with each word I say.
“GO OUT…” I gesture to the door. She raises one eyebrow at me.
“TO DINNER….” I continue. She smirks.
“Do I…want to…go out…” she repeats mockingly. I nod emphatically. She blinks. “With Yul Brynner? God no! He’s dead! Why would I want to go and do a thing like that? The man was bald! Like a cue ball! Bald as the day is long. And his days aren’t long anymore cuz the poor man is deader than a doornail! So sad, really.”
“I said DIN-NER,” I motion my hands to my mouth like I’m eating.
“Oh. Well, I’m hungry so why the hell not? I’d never go eat dinner with Yul Brynner though, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I wasn’t ask–look, just forget it. Hey, what does that mean, anyway?” I wonder aloud. “Dead as a doornail? I mean, what the hell is a doornail? And why is it dead?”
“Darned if I know,” my mom shuffles over to get her coat. She stops and glares at me. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go before I’m deader than a doornail!”
[Later on, my mother and I are seated at a local Italian restaurant, looking at our menus]
“Can I start you off with some beverages?” a young waitress smiles as she sets down two glasses of ice water.
“Well, you just gave us water so what else ya got?” my mom asks. “Or does this cost us money? Is this water free?” she scowls and peers suspiciously over her eyeglasses at the waitress.
“It’s free, Mom,” I sigh.
She looks down at her glass. “Is this tap water?”
“Would you like me to bring you something else?” asks the waitress.
“Well, yes,” my mom glares.
Several seconds pass. My mom cringes as she looks around the room. “God! I can’t hear myself think in here. The music is too damned loud!”
Several more seconds pass.
“Uh…ma’am? Do you want some coffee, tea, soda?” the patient waitress asks.
“Heh? Oh! Sanka, please!” my mom yells and puts her napkin in her lap.
The waitress glances at me, then back to my mom. “Excuse me, ma’am?”
“Sanka. I want Sanka.”
“Sanka?” the waitress appears confused.
“Sanka. Sanka! SAN-KA. CAN YOU HEAR ME?” My mom dismisses the waitress with a wave of her hand, then leans toward me and yells, “Jeezum crow! I don’t think the poor girl can hear me! The music is too dang loud in this place!”
“Mom, I don’t think she knows what Sanka is. I don’t think you know what it is. It’s decaf coffee. You don’t drink decaf coffee, Mom.”
“She’ll have black coffee, not decaf,” I say to the waitress. “Or Sanka,” I add a sheepish smile.
“You want me to thank her! Thank her!” my mom sits straight up. “I will. Just as soon as she brings me my damned coffee!”
Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion when my mom yells, “Well, I ain’t eatin THAT!” then insists a salad should not have lettuce because lettuce is a waste of perfectly good food.
Like this post? Here, have some more!