“So, your mother is coming to visit? Ready to have her dissect your life,” I teased.
“Yeah, you know she’s going to judge what you’re wearing as you walk out the door to work,” said another friend.
“And she’s going to call you all day while you’re at work and complain that you’re not there with her,” yelled another.
For about 15 minutes, we mocked Janet for what she was about to experience.
We had all been there before, dutifully enduring a mother’s awkward visit into a fully fleshed out adult life. All of us, self described “good daughters,” love and honor our mothers, but we all understand there is psychic injury to be had when enduring mom morning, noon, and night.
“How long’s she around for?” someone asked. “Three and a half days is the key to a good visit,” I yelled. “I can do three weeks, at her house,” someone else opined.
Then, Veronica realized her own 9-year-old was listening to the group of women kvetch about their moms. “But you aren’t listening to this conversation are you,” she smiled at Alicia.
“Who are you talking about?” the little voice said from behind the benches where we all sat.
“Oh just a random woman that sometimes lives in my apartment,” I quickly interjected.
And then Janet spoke of how the random woman who sometimes lives in her apartment wanted to come a day early and leave a day late. And I raised how the random woman sometimes living in my apartment felt the need to go to bed early, and then yell at me for not doing the same.
“Wait a minute,” said the little voice. “How long has the random woman been in your apartment?”
“Oh, about 43 years,” I answered.
“That’s weird, why do you let her in? She sounds crazy.”