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[personal profile] theferrett
The operative word to describe my mother is "cute." She's a smallish lady with a twinkle in her eye and rings on her fingers, looking completely harmless.

This is why she gets away with saying the most terrible things.

My nickname in many circles is "One step beyond," since I will keep saying increasingly outrageous things until the room groans in revulsion. I thought for years that I must have gotten this trait from my Dad, who tells many terrible (if inoffensive) jokes, or my Uncle Tommy, who was brave and fearless. My mother, as it turns out, is the stealth comedian in my family, sneaking in something horridly inappropriate and then giggling so madly you almost forget it was she who'd said it.

Take, for instance, the case of Gini and the salmon.

You have to understand that since my wife had lived in Alaska for twenty years, she is an absolute salmon snob. She disdains farm-raised salmon, and anyone who insists on calling farm-raised salmon "salmon." She's had actual salmon, and knows that this farm-raised rubbish tastes like old cardboard soaked in dead fish. No, what she needs is Alaskan salmon, delivered wriggling from the cold waters of Alaska, and she will not eat anything lesser.

We were out to dinner in Cleveland with my mother when Gini's salmon-snobbery arose. "We have Alaskan salmon," the waiter said.

"Is it real salmon?" Gini asked, fixing the waiter with a stern motherly glare, as if the waiter would break down and blubber that no, he'd been lying, the kitchen was actually mold-pressing Starkist Tuna into salmon form. But no; the waiter held to his guns and insisted that the salmon had been flown from Alaska fresh this morning.

"I'll try it," my wife said, giving the waiter a steely glare. And when the salmon arrived, she poked at it tentatively with a fork, gave it a tentative frown, then lifted the fork to her mouth...

...and tears fell. Her eyes rolled back in her head as Gini, transfused with happiness, chewed her salmon in utter contentment.

"Now I know what she looks like when she has an orgasm!" my Mom chirped. And then bobbed her head, giggling.

"Mom!" I warned, and she gave me such a mischievous look.

Now, I've told this story many, many times. This time, however, I was telling it to Mom's friend Bob. And when I got to the punchline, I said this:

" 'Now I know what she looks like when she has an orgasm!' Mom cried. Thing is, she was right."

"Billy!" Mom cried, embarrassed, and I was ever so glad to have returned the favor to my dear, dear mother.


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