I’m pretty sure Mom works for the CIA.
I’ve never seen her shoot a gun, wear a black suit with mirrored sunglasses or pull someone’s spine out of their throat but I have my reasons.
1. She’s a polyglot. She speaks five different languages….whereas I can barely handle English (I’ve used, “the thing with the thing” entirely too many times in my life to be considered a fluent speaker of the language).
2. She knows things that she really shouldn’t know
(Upon seeing Chris Brown on TV)
Mom: Oh yeah. The BET Awards were on last night.
Dudes, Chris Brown’s mother didn’t know he was on the BET Awards.
3. She is a phenomenally good interrogator and straight-up aces at getting people she hasn’t even met to side with her.
Last week, I had a forty five minute long discussion with her about dairy products.
With the exception of cheese, I am not a fan. I hate the taste of milk, I don’t particularly care for ice cream and I hate yogurt. I hate it with fruit. I hate it with granola. I hate smoothies and seriously, PinkBerry/Red Mango/Kiwi? Adorbs, but not for me.
Mom: You like yogurt, Jemmy.
Me: No, I don’t.
Mom: Yes, you do.
Me: Mom, I can promise you that I really don’t.
This went on for a good 45 minutes. For those in the cheap seats, let me reiterate. FORTY FIVE minutes of Mom going through various incarnations of dairy products and me saying that I would not eat them on a train, I would not eat them on a plane, I would not eat them in a box, I would not eat them with a fox.
This conversation made me want to burn down a dairy.
Yesterday at lunch, I mention this fact to my co-workers and as if by some miracle of Black Ops technology, they started channeling Mom and emphasizing the importance of calcium in a well-balanced diet. How my blonde, blue-eyed coworker managed to look exactly like my brunette, green-eyed mother is a mystery I’ll never understand.
Kudos, Mommy. Kudos.