Text from my Mother

It was my mother's birthday this week. My mother loves her birthday. 

Janet points toward Hollywood

Often for her birthday what my mother desires most is merely a small sacrifice on the part of her fellow family members; something indicative of each individual's undying devotion unwavering tolerance of the child-like whimsy with which the fully grown mature adult female in question is so closely associated, the preferred sacrificial method being group public humiliation. 

Luckily, the sacred day was deemed "too hot" for the planned humiliation this year (which I will not give a title but suffice to say it involved the terms "historic North end", "segway", "tour" and "helmet"). 


In this course of events, added weight and expectation is placed upon the inevitable material gifts. As it happens, this is the birthday category in which I feel I excel most. 


The proof is in the birthday pudding they used to say! But now that we're all living in the future and the robots are learning to digitize the pudding, I guess "the proof is in your mother's texting?"

After-birthday dinner text from my mother:

"Thanks for coming down for my  Birthday and for my gifts! Hand made!! Vomited the worms for Dad with the dentures in! It was quite a sight ;-)"

happy birthday, moms.