This New York Times article on the science of getting people to eat more junk food pretty much got rid of any hesitation I’d had about being more conscious about my Diet Coke and salt intake.
“We always were two ends of the same bitch-goddess spectrum. Maybe that’s why we love each other so much.”
–Santana Lopez, Glee
My mom says an older lady claiming to be from the FBI calls her every morning at 9 a.m. When she asks my mom to identify herself, my mom hangs up. Neither my mom nor I are exactly sure who is running a scam here, but we’re pretty sure the FBI will come on over if it really wants to talk to my mother.
This year my mom actually got me a birthday card addressed “To my daughter.” Other years my card has been for a niece or for someone who needs to get well.
My mom admits this time around she paid special attention to the words and even reread them carefully before buying. She threw in that I could call the neighbor up the street, because she even saw my mom reading the card for several minutes.
My mother tells two versions of my birth story.
In the first, she is alone overnight in the hospital and a full moon keeps trying to get its light through the window onto her. She doesn’t like full moons and is scared to have the full moon looking for the baby inside her.
The next afternoon, the baby is born. She is loud and she is the only baby in the maternity ward, so all of the nurses pay attention to her. This focus on the baby also scares my mother.
My mother spends the next few weeks and months scared of everything that can hurt her first child.
In the second version, my mother buys my younger sister and me at local stores within walking distance of her home.
She buys one of us at the Lucky’s grocery store and the other at Sav-on. She never reveals which of us came from which store, but my sister and I each spend a lifetime claiming we’re the one who came from the (more expensive) Sav-on.