I call my mother to tell her how well the classes are going. Grinning, I boast of my successes that somehow seem to exceed most others in the class [mom's are really good at also bragging on the accomplishments of their offspring]. Unbeknown to me, she has been drinking and proves the point with the confession that she now lays in the floor as she chats on the phone. By now, I can hear the inconsistency of her speech. No less, I ignorantly continue to drivel on about my pride, as I have never been a star student [especially at anything requiring athletic propensity], when suddenly her agreeing tone turns bitter:
Well, I'm just soooo sorry you got that from me. I'm real fucking sorry that all of your good qualities came from your father. Soon after the
rant's beginning, I tell her I have to go...it wrenches my interior with a choking fury.
Following the snide drama of last night's episode, I receive an email from my father. He has most certainly misspelled my name, which I received as a shortened version of his own...
[
like all the others, these get filed away under "funny family stories," the ones I lean so heavily on to stave off tears and failure.]
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