Tales in Hot Pink is a weekly column by our fearless leader. Like all management, he is not required to tell the truth, represent himself accurately, or trouble himself with reality in any way. And, in keeping with our corporate style, he is not bound by good taste or specific subject, so he may ramble wildly from topic to topic. As his employees, we encourage this, because the day is long and we are frequently bored.
|
Mother's Day Memories
My mother tried to kill me once with a piece of fish. We don't talk about it much, but it's true. Every family has a dark secret, and the Fish Incident is ours. It was Long John Silver's Fish, to be exact. For those of you not familiar with the LJS fish preparation, it begins with a flavorless piece of whitefish. This "fish" is expertly prepared with a suspect mix of flour and lard by angry teenagers who hate you because they have to work at Long John Silvers. They fry the fish cakes in huge, bubbling cauldrons of grease. The grease causes the angry teens to break out with near fatal acne, which makes them more angry and hostile, so by the time you get there it is impossible for them to take your order without sneering. After frying, the fish is spread with bacon grease, dipped in vegetable oil, and served with a pat of Crisco on top. It is lovingly arranged on a Styrofoam plate or put in a cardboard box that will corrode in four hours. And, joy of joys, with every order you get little balls of stuff called Hush Puppies. These are the scrapings the angry teens find at the bottom of the fryer at close. My mother (or maybe my father) brought home one of these greasy boxes of death one night. I was about ten years old. A ten year old does not eat fish, in any form. He will eat hot dogs, pizza, and chocolate. My mother, apparently, was unaware of this, and put one of the nauseating fried blocks on my plate. I examined the fish without touching it or moving my hands from my lap. No one noticed my hesitation. My mother and father started in on dinner without a problem. I puzzled over why. I came to the conclusion it was because they were so old they were going to die soon anyway, and they wanted to take me with them. "Can I have a hot dog?" I asked. An unacceptable question. Anything that came in a box and was packed by angry teenagers was supposed to be a treat a ten year old should approve of. "No," my mother said. "We don't have any hot dogs." She pointed to my plate. "We have fish." "Can I have some pizza?" I asked. "We're having fish for dinner," my mother said. "I'm not going to make you something else." "Can I have some chocolate?" "Eat your fish," she said, and it was clear from the tone of her voice she was not open to bartering. I looked at the fish. I realized the time had come for me to take a stand. My life was at stake. It would be risky, of course, and could only end badly, but I wanted to live. It was a possibility my mother would kill me if I refused to eat dinner, but it was a certainty the fish would slay me instantly. Worse, it would leave a bad taste in my mouth. No one wants to die with a bad taste in their mouth. I took a deep breath. "I will not eat the fish," I said. A moment of surprised silence ensued. "Yes you will," my mother said. "No I won't," I said. "You're not having anything else until you eat that fish," my mother said. "I will not eat the fish," I said again. I felt like Ghandi. Passive resistance. "You'll sit there all night until you eat the fish." I silently agreed that I would, if I had to. She shrugged, convinced that time, and hunger, would wear me down. But it didn’t. Because she'd outsmarted herself when she raised me. Without even aware that she was preparing me for the fish showdown, over the years she had imbued me with the strength to face something poisonous and not eat it. It is perhaps the most valuable thing a mother can teach her child. Do not eat the berries from the bush in the backyard, don't put broken glass in your mouth, dishwashing detergent is not for drinking. No matter what television show you may miss or how much your ass stings after two hours of sitting in a dining room chair, do not eat something that will kill you. She realized, late in the evening, that I had learned my lesson well. It was clear that I had no intention of eating the fish, and I would sit in the chair all night and all day if I had to. She was forced to relent. Even though it was clear she wanted to kill me, she only would do it if the fish in question was fresh. Fish minus refrigeration equals trouble. Because of the Fish Incident, Mother's Day always fills me with confusion. I'm never sure whether to thank my Mom for the valuable lessons that kept me from gagging to death on a piece of whitefish, or to demand an apology for the attempt on my life. Maybe we'll just call it even.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom. Thanks for letting me leave the table.
|
||
| A collection of more diseased madness below. Check
out a few, and then buy The Reluctant
Prophet. We won't tell
anyone what you spent your grocery money on. No one needs to
know. We can keep it just between us.
|
||
|
E-mail feedback, jokes or nekkid pickchures to Tom at: |
