Meg’s mother returns!

My mother.

I think that says it.

She looks harmless, right?


I took her to the drugstore to get her coronavirus booster vaccine. I’d made an online appointment at her local drugstore. But when we got there, they claimed that they didn’t have the Pfizer booster, and my mom had gotten the Pfizer vaccine and wanted to stay consistent with that. They had Moderna. She didn’t want Moderna. I ran and hid in the incontinence aisle while she went on and on with the pharmacist about her disappointment.

When I finally drifted over to the pharmacy desk, my mom was trying to arrange to get the booster shot from a nearby department store that had a drugstore inside it, but:

  1. We didn’t know how to get there,
  2. We didn’t have an appointment scheduled, except for the location we were already at, and
  3. We didn’t know if this other location had the Pfizer booster.

My mom asked, “What do you think?” while she was still arguing with the pharmacist.

“I have no thoughts.”

“I see.”

After we left the pharmacy, my mom begged me to drive in some random direction toward where the other drugstore was, go inside with her, and beg them to give her the booster without an appointment. I said flat-out no.

Then, I took her to Target. This was our second and final planned destination for today. (I can only handle Mother in small doses. I’m sure you understand, dear reader.) She drew attention to herself all over the store.

Then we went to the checkout lane. And, dear God, our cashier was a young man in a wheelchair. I had a bad feeling about that but tried to stifle it, thinking, surely not even my mother would be cruel to someone in a wheelchair.Β 

Clearly, as you can see, I was delusional.

It took the young man a long time to run our items. I was unbothered by this, as I could tell he was trying his hardest, and that’s all you can do. Then, my mom had some sort of meltdown over trying to find her debit card in her purse, during which her other cards got put everywhere (the conveyor belt, the cashier’s hand, you name it) and she went on and on about how helpless she was, and how she needed my help for everything.

I’d been putting the bags back into our cart, but I cringed and approached her, saying, “Do you need help, Mommy?”

“Yes! I’m incompetent! Please hold this card for me while I zip everything else back up. You can be my special card holder, sweetheart.”

I wanted to die. I settled for an eyeroll.

Back I went to put the bags in the cart. The young man was trying to stand from his chair and put them in the cart for me, and I felt bad for him and was trying to convey to him that I didn’t mind putting them in the cart.

Then I approached my mom to give her the card, because she seemed to have gotten herself organized. “We’re getting done here,” she said pointedly, eyeing the poor guy in the wheelchair. “I think. Gee, it’s taking a while. I can take my card now.”

Like a good daughter, I just gave her the card so she could pay.

Then she accosted him thusly: “Hey! Did you ring up my peanut butter twice?”

I facepalmed and fought off the urge to flee the store.

“No, ma’am. I was holding it in my lap to organize things as I scanned them. See on the screen? It’s only there once.” This was true. All of it.

“But I’m used to being able to see everything as it scans!” she shrieked.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t make the screen any larger.”

“I know, I know, it’s not your fault.” But her voice clearly indicated that she didn’t believe that.

Too little, too late, anyway.

Then it was time to pay. She got upset over the high amount of the bill and then put her card into the reader backward. The poor cashier forced himself to his feet in order to reorient her card in the reader. He did all of this before I could figure out what was wrong. But also, I was searching for a huge fiery hole to swallow me up and carry me down to hell. I didn’t find one.

Geez, Meg, don’t be so selfish. If you’d been swallowed up by a hole, your poor mother would’ve been stranded at Target. And that poor cashier would’ve eventually quit his job and run screaming… wheelchair or no!Β 

Yeah, whatever. There was no hole, so it’s all moot.

Then my mom said, “Ohh, all these heavy groceries! We’ll never get them into the car.”

(It was, like, three bags of groceries. Everything else was lightweight: children’s clothing and wrapping paper.)

“Do you need help?” the cashier asked.

“No, we don’t,” I said quickly.Β Mother’s just being dramatic. I had to stop myself from adding that. “We’ll be fine. Come along, Mother.”

And off we went.

When we got home, I put her groceries away, focusing only on the perishables. Then she came upstairs too after checking her mailbox.

“I guess you want to go, ” she said. “I know it’s been a long day for you.”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Is there something you want to say? You look like there’s something on your mind.”

I was sizing up her location by the stairs, concerned that if I shoved past her to exit, I’d knock her over, which would probably upset her. “No, nothing’s on my mind.” I sighed.

She finally moved. I made my move, too, ducking toward the stairs. I finally escaped.

Now, safe at home, it’s just… AAUGH!! AAUGH!! AAUGH!! I can’t cope. I just can’t.

4 thoughts on “Meg’s mother returns!

    1. HA HA! Thanks for thinking that was a strong dose of my mother! What she wanted to do was also drive across town and get a ring from her late husband out of her safe deposit box from the bank. I had to put my foot down at what we did do, though, and it all could’ve gone so much worse!! AAUGH! I stress-ordered a pizza on my dad’s credit card last night! πŸ˜€ Then I just confessed it to him, and he took it well. It was a good pizza! But I’ll never lose weight at this rate!! AAUGH! Must keep trying!! Thanks for your support!! ❀

      Liked by 1 person

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