Ode to Mama

My mom is a sucker for those infomercials, specifically, the FoodSaver. You know, the one that sucks the air out of bags and jars to lock-in the freshness with a seal? After she bought one, she went crazy and most foods in our house became shrink-wrapped and suffocated in little bags. She tried to take the air out of steak, which only resulted in the flavorful juices spilling all over the machine and counter. (She called it "marinating") She has also mastered taking the fluffy rise out of bread and the air out of pancake mix (What air in pancake mix?) This was two years ago. When it broke, she wasted her money on a new one! When that one broke, she had ME call the hotline to complain and ask if it was still under warrenty. So, today, I sat there explaining to the girl that sounds like her other job is at a tanning salon in Texas that the piece of crap "just keeps sucking and sucking and sucking, but never seals the deal." (Where's Dr. Drew when I need him?) Anyway, I'm thinking about all this in Safeway today, when it hits me: My mom spends so much time at work that she has become oblivious to the real world much less how to funtion in it. She's of those women that you wish wouldn't shop at Safeway because they don't know the rules of shopping cart ettiqutte. She leans heavily on the cart and pushes her butt out to take up as much room when driving it up and down each aisle, then stops abruptly, gives her cart a quarter turn so it blocks the entire aisleway and proceeds to search for the specific kind of gourmet dog food. She darts in front of you, without apologies to cut off the little kid so that she can sit there to pick flavors like Banana Berry Blast from the "Go-gurt" pile. She doesn't notice the father's dirty look. Meanwhile, I try to disappear next to the frozen cheesecake and apologize to the strangers that squeeze by the cart and stare at them desperately with a look that says: "Are You My Mother?" (maybe it says: "Why aren't you my mother?!") She asks me loudly in the "Feminine Products" section where the gloves are. I look at her with confusion and embarrassment and say dryly, "I don't think you'll find them in with the pads. Try the next aisle with the pregnancy tests!" I found relief until she announces astonished in the checkout line, "Wow, they're finally engaged!" I look up to see where she gets her news. She's reading from a tabloid! I just pray that the cool Cal students don't notice me and my mother. Now, my dad and she (and the rest of the midwest) are eating up what Dr. Phil tells them as they try to apply his morals to their own lives. And, I will retreat back to what I did when I lived with them before college. I'll become the silent, depressed one that can only escape into the world of Hogwarts and Middle Earth. I still love her despite the nagging, and rudeness and naiveté.
Dear God, Make me a bird, so I can fly far, far away.