Climbing Everest sounds like it could be a little tough. Running marathons would take a bit of effort. Being a POW would also be something of a of a pain in the ass, I assume.
But, none of that would compare with…
Running errands for my mother.
I should clarify that not all of these errands are actually for my mother.
My mother will demand that errands be run on behalf of family, friends or people she just met on the street.
And it doesn’t matter what the errand/favour is.
“You want a program written to handle missle command for a small European nation? Peter has a computer. He’ll do it!”
It doesn’t even matter if she likes the person or not. It could be Hitler or that prick who created Family Guy. They’ll have told her some sob story, that she’ll in turn use on us.
“Sure, he’s history’s worst villain. But, he has a splinter in his toe and has a hard time climbing ladders.”
I’ve learned to just give in. I’ll grumble and swear a little, but eventually do it.
And that would be the end of it, I suppose, IF the errands/favours actually worked out as they had been described.
In the history of ever, nothing has been where my mother has claimed it would be.
She’ll ask you to go pick up a file folder.
“It’s not on my desk? Check the basement? Or six miles down the road. On the international space station? Perhaps it never existed.”
She’s a character.
The other day my mother emailed me from work. She wanted me to go through her collection of LPs in her basement to find two or three albums by a local musician dude.
And so I did.
And they weren’t there. Of course.
However, I did find one of the more questionable collections of music that any family has ever assembled.
My sister’s Mini-Pops.
My Bay City Rollers. (Laugh it up, jerkfaces.)
I e-mailed her to tell her that I couldn’t find the albums in question. And to let her know that she had a larger collection of albums by 70s Canadian duo “Gary & Dave” than anyone not in the immediate family of Gary and/or Dave.
didn’t doesn’t find me amusing. And she told me I was a dope for not finding the right albums.
In my exhaustive search, I found two albums that made me laugh. Hard.
I had an immediate flashback to my misspent youth.
I was probably 8 or 9. I’d spend a lot of time stretched out on the floor next to my parents record player (google it, kids) listening to the original “Smoking in the Boys Room” and Steppenwolf and Abba and all sorts of other stuff.
Then one day, I found this:
Thank you, Herb Alpert.
It was like my entire life had been a prelude to that moment.
I thought I had found porn. Also, I was sure that she was the prettiest woman in the world.
By the way, chick is 71 now. I’m going to try not to think about that. Moving on…
When I wasn’t ogling whip cream lady, I was staring at this:
Even better than that cover photo — if that is possible — was the picture on the inside fold-out dealie. She was wearing a red leather one piece get-up, her butt facing the camera, and holding some TNT. Mrrrrowwwrrrrrr. I can’t find it online. And I looked. Trust me.
Ever the ass man, I’d stare at that for hours.
If my parents came into the room…
“I’m not doing anything!”
Confused look on their faces.
They looked at me holding a Tanya Tucker album cover while that Snoopy and the Red Baron song played on my Charlie Brown something or other album. They likely ignored it, as I assume I was a pretty wacky kid in general.
Still, it would have been much easier to maintain my cover, had Lucy from Peanuts wore a little blush and some hot pants.