Am I?

My son tells me on a daily basis that I am not normal and I am nothing like his other friend’s mothers. He has even enlisted his friends to speak to me and determine if I am abnormal. Apparently I am. I don’t really fit into the cool mom category because I tell these teens every time I am in their presence that I will not be buying them alcohol. I also mention that if I smell pot, see pot or hear about pot, I will take it from them and smoke it, then dance naked around them, showing them how silly it makes you. I am not the strict mom either because I often, at the embarrassment of my son, ask who is having sex with whom and do they need condoms. While I don’t recommend teen sex, I understand that it happens and I want to make sure everything is safe. I also tell my son’s friends that they should wait for sex because it gets so much better when you are older, much much older. Yet I still can’t wrap my head around my son’s horrible accusations of being abnormal. Of course I am a normal mommy who does normal things. I pack lunches and worry about The roommates. I go to volleyball games and teacher conferences. I am normal Goddamnit! So what if I write a blog exposing every detail about my life. The roommates don’t read it or even care.

Then it happened. My abnormality rang through the halls of my son’s high school and trickled down to the middle school of my daughter. I was dropping Duke off at school and as he stepped out of the car, I thought it would be humorous to stalk him. I wait in the driver’s seat for a few seconds, then I start following him, really slowly.

“You want some candy, little boy?” I ask. He starts to laugh so I know I am on the right track. Then I get crazy and start to imitate a drug crazed drug dealer with full on tweaks and twitches.

“Yo, my fine young man, you want some blow? I got the best blow!”

“Nah fam, I know what you want, you want some of that fine ass pussy!”

He looked at me and chuckled so loudly that his classmates looked over in our direction. In my defense I was trying to make my son laugh and pretending to be a drug dealer makes him giggle. Even though we were in public, this was a very private moment between me and The roommates. How dare people look over at us while I’m offering my son imaginary prostitutes from my imaginary pimpatorium. As Duke enters his school and I drive off, my daughter in the back is mortified because I used the P word and because as she tells me, drugs are nothing to joke about, not even in jest. I love my girl.

So I had put the whole scenario behind me and moved on. That was until I stepped into the high school halls. It had been a few days since I asked my son if he wanted a hooker and I had totally forgotten the whole thing, but he hadn’t and neither had his teachers and the students that heard me. Turns out that Duke thought my antics were so funny that he told his favorite teacher, Ms. G. She told Mr. Allen who then told everyone else in the teacher’s lounge. Maybe they think I am quirky, which I have been accused of or maybe everyone is so proud of me for retaining a sense of humor with a dead husband, but when I stepped into the hall that day, people laughed and stared.

I walk over to Duke’s locker and I casually ask why everyone is laughing when they see me. He tells me that they think I am funny.

“How do they even know me or my humor?”

“Well I told them that you offered me a hooker, well pussy.”

“You what?

Holy hell, why do I do the things I do and say the things I say. For such a dirty mouth I am incredibly shy and having all of these sophomores stare at me is making me start to sweat. I then begin to realize…I WRITE A BLOG WHERE I DISCUSS DICKS!

I have to get out of this school as soon as possible. I hand Duke his whatever I came to bring him. I have no idea what it is now because I am so embarrassed. I try to walk faster out of the school halls but my clunky mom shoes, a.k.a. Danskos, are refusing to keep up. I get to my car and slide into my seat, worried that the people of my small town will know that I am abnormal. “Ugh!” I think.
My only consolation in my embarrassment is that at least juniors of my son’s high school now know where they can get some fine ass pussy.

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