When I got to work today, my mother was making Alfredo sauce. No one, and I mean no one, can make Alfredo like this crazy Italian woman can. Well, at least that’s what she thinks. Back in the day, when we first started the restaurant, I would agree. Now, however, I’m not so sure. I could say something about it, but, trust me, there’s no point. The best I can do when it comes to Alfredo is offer to stir it for her because you have to keep at it for a while before it’s ready to come off the heat, and her arm (which is sore from years of cooking… arthritis...) can only take so much before it feels like it’s about to fall off. So, that’s what I was going to do, but first I needed a coffee.
Me: Morning, ma. I’m going to make myself an espresso. Would you like one?
Mother: If it’s no problem.
If it’s no problem? Great, I've been here less than 5 minutes and she’s throwing punches already.
After I made coffee, I went to put on my armor (full body for today) and headed for the kitchen.
Me: Can I stir that for you, ma?
No response, just a look that would scare even unborn children.
Me: What’s that look for?
Mother: You have something else to do, like go write that stuff you write on your computer?
Me: Why, do I need a stirring degree for Alfredo?
Mother: JB, stop bothering me.
Me: Ma, please. I can see your arm hurts. Let me stir the Alfredo. I swear I won’t steal your job from you.
Mother: Oh my God, please, I’m not handicapped. Go blag.
Me: Blog, ma. It's blog.
Mom: Blag. You talk about me, eh? You say bad things about me. Your sister told me.
Me: Oh, you believe her, the women that forgot to tell us she changed religions & got married (a long story… not going there right now)?
Mother: Don’t be like that. She made a mistake.
Me: You call that a mistake? You’re kidding me, right?
Mother: JB, you talk about me, I know.
Me: Stop changing the subject.
Meanwhile, she isn't even looking at me. She’s still stirring the Alfredo, holding the freakin' spatula with all her might, just in case I attempt to pry it out of her hands.
Me: Ma, are you going to let me help you or are we going to play this game all day?
Mother: What is this blag? Why you tell strangers my business & call your sister ‘Bitter’? You talk to people you don't know. You go crazy?
Me: Why are you asking me? As for Bitter, I call her that because she is bitter... and you’re controlling. Nice combo.
Mother: I no control you. And her, she get married when I was in Italy, so I no control her either. Then, she even get a divorce.
Me: Yeah, and how much did it cost us to get her divorced?
Mother: It’s OK, JB, you give me babies one day, OK?
Me: Stop it! I’m not giving you babies. Not now, not next week, and not for you.
Mother: You tell people on your blag you don’t want to give me no babies? You tell that?
Me: Oh my God, ma you make me nuts!!
Sister: Ma, as if she would have a baby. She is a baby. Here, let me finish the Alfredo for you, OK?
Without missing a beat, my mother hands over the spatula to her.
Me: So, what, you two are on the same side today? It’s you guys against me?
Sister: JB, why don’t you go blog instead of standing around. Or, even better, why don’t you go talk to people?
Mother: Ya, let’s go have another coffee.
Me: No, I don’t want to have coffee with you right now.
Mother: Come on. Tell me what you tell people about us.
Me: I tell people you guys are nuts and you're making me nuts.
Mother: So, why you don’t get married to a rich man and have kids? You can stay home like me.
Me: Uh, hello? Dad was always out somewhere and you worked two jobs. No one was home. What, all of a sudden you got Alzheimer’s?
Mother: Don’t make fun of those people. They forget. Me, I want to forget, but I can’t because I have you to remind me. You just like him. Thank God I have your sister.
Me: Oh, today you thank God you have Bitter?
Mother: What? You jealous?
They both grinned at me like Cheshire cats.
Me: I’m going to the office.
Mother: OK, go write another story, go.
I'd do just about anything to get the heck away from you two right now, I thought as I made my way to my desk with their cackling laughter trailing behind me.
Seriously, why do I bother?
P.S. I hate Alfredo! And, why the h*ll is it called Alfredo, anyway??