Mother/roommate

The other day, I embarrassed my mother into never buying another magazine again with this one, and the next day was guilted into writing a sort of retraction--a reassurance that my mother has never in my memory spent money on a magazine like Cosmo, because she's classier than that. Which is true.

Well, the backlash over last night's post hasn't come yet. This time my guilt trip is self-induced. Last night my post was about her going out with a friend. She wound up staying out late at the friend's house and I got a little worried because I am an old lady. I also said somethingIcan'treallyremember about her picking up older men. This is so obviously ludicrous to me because I know her, and I couldn't resist making a funny joke about it. I kind of realized, though, that not everyone knows her as I do, and if she was embarrassed because I told people she bought a magazine advertizing "Crazy-Ass Moves He Wants You To Do To Him There" she would murder me in my sleep if she knew I had implied that she might USE those moves. I mean it. In cold blood, in my sleep, probably bludgeon me with this laptop. Sigh.
So my own guilty conscience prompted me to assure everyone who has never met my mother that I say these things, really, to mortify her. Because if I told you stories about her real day-to-day activities, you would fall asleep somewhere between "...so she compared the two, and decided that the Energy-Smart bulbs didn't give off light as pretty and soft as the Reveal..." and "...boy oh boy did we get into an exciting debate! I just couldn't convince her that she didn't have to time the spaghetti as it boiled!"
Both of which really truly happened this week, I just didn't see the need to write about them. You're welcome.