Well, hey there! Have I mentioned my crazy mother? It’s on my mind these days after yet another visit-followed-by-a-serious-letter special combo platter. Is your mother more interfering, advice-giving, meddling, worrying, nagging, needling, and bullying than mine? Really? Prove it!
Have I mentioned that she is a psychotherapist and therefore Knows More Than God? Uh huh. Yep, we’re a mess down here in Texas, and there’s only one cowgirl smart enough, strong enough, and in possession of enough free time (conveniently during the winter months) to save us! Wow, Mom! Thanks for the offer! But seriously, leave me the fuck alone! My mom, in all of her crippling anxiety (and where did that come from? She wasn’t like that when I was a child, I don’t think) seriously thinks that we are doomed. And I mean doomed, like, there’s no hope for us if we don’t get her specialized round-the-clock, hey-I’m-a-relative, but-I-can-practice-psychotherapy-on-you-anyway, boundary-issues-don’t-scare-me treatment.
I love her, really, but sometimes I forget why.
P.S. Please send your phone to Frankie.