Friday, June 10, 2005

Mommy, I aint gay!

Mother likes to snoop. She's fond of going through my kitchen cabinets, my administration and my wardrobe. This brutal invasion of my privacy has already backfired on her several times during my lifetime.
I can remember her giving me the "female exploitation" talk when she found my first playboy magazine. My dad was sitting in the background reading the newspaper, occasionally proudly smiling at me. That day I learned that Playboy was "OK" and my parents sexlife probably wasn't.
When I was 18 or so, I moved to Amsterdam. My mother, (who hadn't seen me in two years, me being abroad and all), took it upon herself to come over and clean my room once a month. Invariably, after she'd left, I'd find a small stack of playboys with a little note that just said: "dirty". From this I learned that my mother was sexually frustrated and my father secretly stole my magazines. (I never did figure out where he hid them.)
I'm a grown man now and rapidly approaching the dreaded middle-age. My mother still likes to snoop. Recently, during one of her bi-monthly visits, she stumbled upon my ex-girlfriends toy collection. Her face turned red, then purple, then green, but she never said a word. I can only guess what went through her mind, but in hindsight I believe that she now thinks I have an anal fixation in a way that not even Freud could have fathomed possible. (For as any "good girl" knows.... women only use those toys because evil men want them to.)
The latest disaster happened quite recently. I was cleaning out my closets, (after my break-up with A.), and my bed was strewn with g-strings, corsets and bra's. The doorbell rang and I hastened to open. Hooray! Another unannounced visit from the prude brigade. As I was busy in the kitchen making her coffee, she strayed into my bedroom. (Why does she always do that?) I found her pale and obviously in shock. As I handed her her coffee, like any good son would do I tried to explain: "R. it's not what you think."
"No, it's your life, it's okay.", she said, carefully avoiding eye-contact and making her way back to the living room.
"Mommy......... Mom..... it just makes me feel more secure to wear those."
I expected her to laugh. She didn't. She never got the joke.
I hate to think what I'll be getting for my next birthday.

Thursday, June 09, 2005

My cat aint gay

I'm trying to teach my cat to kiss me. I bought some (90%yeast, 9% milkproducts, 1% fish) salmon flavoured cat candy; put it between my lips and hover my head in front of his.
He started out by just slapping the thing out of my mouth with his paw. Yesterday he saw fit to bite my upper lip so hard it brought tears to my eyes. And today he just sat there and looked at me.
You think he's trying to tell me something here?

Monday, June 06, 2005

Freud was right!

It is my fate, that most of my social life is dominated by single mothers with fourteen year old sons. As any primary school teacher will be able to tell you, some of those fourteen year olds are gems and some are boogers. I have no idea what makes one fourteen year old grow up to be a man, and the other grow up to be a booger. Freud would probably have a great theory on it if he were still alive, and most probably it would all be the fault of Mother.
About a month ago me and the single mothers were having a discussion while the kids were watching television. As is natural, when the wine flows freely and the food has been good, the subject drifted to politics and ultimately to George W. Bush.
"He went over to Iraq to steal their oil!", one of the boogers shouted, jumping up and down on the sofa. I didn't get a chance to ask where he got this wisdom from, because the little booger was doing handstands against the wall, all the while screaming that Bush was the evilistest meany in the whole wide world.
A little later, in one of those rare moments when the booger wasn't having one of his tantrums, I went over to him and gently asked him to explain the deeper reasoning behind his statements. He looked at me with unbelieving eyes and said: "You don't know? Then you're stupid." And that was it. I was stupid. Before I could reply, he was running up the stairs chasing the cat, screaming at the top of his lungs that Bush went over to Iraq to steal oil.

About a week later I was once again discussing the meaning of life with my single mother friends. The South-African red flowed freely, the food had been good, so naturally our discussion drifted towards George W. Bush.
"You know,", one of the single mothers said in a way that women do when they are announcing a public secret, "He went over to Iraq to steal their oil."
Feeling pretty safe, a mistake men often make when in the company of women, I ventured: "In so far as the liberation of the Iraqi people goes, I support Bush all the way." Mistake!

She looked at me with unbelieving eyes and said: "You don't know? Then you're stupid." And that was it. I was stupid. Before I could reply, she was running up the stairs chasing the cat, screaming at the top of her lungs that Bush went over to Iraq to steal oil.

I should have known. Freud was right. Goddammit! Freud was right!