Talking about M-o-m-m-y and don't you dare put down Madonna

 Did you happen to see the comment my sister Lori left on Saturday's post about my mother falling off her Sketchers?

"I love my new Tone Ups slippers and sneakers! You haven't steered me wrong yet!!! Maybe Mommy tried to skip in them!!!"

Okay, two things.  One, my mother recently discovered that she is no longer able to skip.  You might wonder, "How on earth does one come to that realization?  Does it one day hit you, 'Hey, I haven't skipped in a while... I wonder if I still have it in me?'"

Well, in her case, she learned this sad fact while playing with Stepdaddy's grandchildren; she is no longer able to skip.  Not that she doesn't make the effort.  And can I tell you there is nothing, nothing funnier than watching her try to skip?  Her shoulders go up, her hand go up, but her body stays planted on the ground.  I wish I could make a video, but she'd kill me and the truth is, I'm still afraid of her.  She's not quite to the point where we can threaten to put her in a home if she acts up.  At any rate, I'm quite sure that my mother skipping in Sketchers would be certain death.

The second thing--WTF was my sister thinking by telling the world that we still call her MOMMY???  Jesus H, we're in our fifties!  That's pretty queer, but we can't be the only grown adults who refer to their mother as Mommy.

Um, do you?

My father used to tell a story that took place when he was probably in his late thirties.  He was standing in line at the bank with my grandfather, who turned to him and said something like, "Have you talked to Mommy today?" (Insert the sound of falling levels of testosterone...)

Changing topics...

I'm surprised at how nasty some of the posts on Facebook have been about Madonna's halftime performance. Not from my real friends--you know how you accumulate those Facebook friends that you don't really know?  To them I say... what exactly is your talent again?    

Fifty-three and gorgeous!

 You try to sing and dance in uber-heels on friggin' bleachers live in front of 113 million people.  (Jesus H, I'm ready to puke before telling a few people some jokes in the back room of a dive bar.)

And P.S.:  See me when you turn 53.  I can imagine what you'll look like at that age. 

Oh, and by the way, Madonna was a motherless child, you friggin' douche bags.  Her mother died when she was 6.  I'd say she does all right for herself.