It is probably not entirely fair to say that Saturday Night Live patterned their character, The Church Lady, after my mother. It, however, is not too far from the truth. She is prim and proper almost to the point of being prudish. Knead in an equal amount of operatic diva. Sprinkle moderately with essence of OCD, being sure the flakes are evenly spaced. Add a dash or two of Tabasco sauce. That would be my mother.
A year or so ago my cousin died and somehow I ended up driving my mother alone to the funeral. We took her car as she likes neither of my vehicles. She complains about having to climb into my F-150 pickup. Alternatively, she gripes about the lowness and smallness of my MX-5 sports car. So we took her car with me driving. And of course she has this whole set of rules Continue reading “Hanging from the back bumper”