It doesn’t seem to matter how old I become (I’m 63), my mother still sees me as approximately twelve years old.
Since she lives alone and no longer drives (thank you, Lord) I offered to go to the store for her today so she could have her usual 4th of July dinner fare: hot dogs. I got her Hebrew National All Beef Kosher hot dogs.
It’s funny, but in a relatively small Texas town with probably zero practicing Jews, just about all the Hebrew Nationals were sold out when I got there.
I guess either the word is out they taste the best or maybe that whole Rapture thing is going down soon and everyone wants to hedge their bets.
I also got the requisite hot dog buns, “lightly salted” Lay’s potato chips and some potato salad from the deli. At this point in my 90 year-old mother’s life, pretty much anything goes food-wise. If cholesterol, salt and nitrites haven’t gotten her thus far, have at it I say. For dessert I popped for a lemon meringue pie from the store’s bakery.
Let’s party like it’s 1935!
I brought the goodies home and she was thrilled with all of it. She made herself lunch right away and I had a piece of pie while she scarfed down her pre-4th vittles. A good time was had by all. She thanked me several times for getting her all the makings for what looks to be a hot dog marathon over the weekend.
After refilling her pill boxes and chastising her a bit for missing a day’s worth (“If you took Friday’s pills, how come the box is still full?”) I started to make my departure.
She followed me out to her front porch and we exchanged kisses.
Then, as I made my way down her walkway to my car, I heard the words that have been the bane of my existence since I was twelve:
“Stand up straight!”