Apr 29 2008
This is the one about drugs.
Last night I had the following conversation with my mother:
Mother: Michael [she's the only person that really calls me that anymore], I need you to settle and argument between me and your sister.
Me: Okay.
Mother: Isn’t ecstasy a date-rape drug?
Me: No.
Mother: I could have sworn that I saw a Law And Order where the bad-guy used ecstasy as a date-rape drug.
Me: Nope. Probably roofies or GHB.
Mother: Why do you know that?
Me: Did you really come in here and expect me to be the arbiter in your date-rape argument, and then get surprised when I happened to know the names of date-rape drugs?
Mother: Can you just say that you don’t know for sure if ecstasy is a date-rape drug so then I won’t be wrong?
That is a classic ending.
[...] This is the one where she thinks that ecstasy is a date-rape drug. This is the one where she is happy that I am gay and not a murderer. This is the one where she puts 6 cups of flour into her soup. This is the one where she writes an illegible note. This is the one where my mom took my kindergarten sister to school on a Sunday. This is the one where I tell my mom I have diabetes. This is the one where she burns her eyebrows off in the oven. [...]
I love the last question your mother asks.