Linner

Well, kids, I thought this trip home would create SO much blog fodder, I'd be posting twice a day.

I was beyond wrong.

Everyone here at Asylum North is on their best behavior. After four days, most eggshells are still completely in-tact. Toes are being tippied on.

You know, a trip home to see the fam...my fam... is very scary, very stressful. I work very, very hard to remain on best behavior: walls up, mouth shut, multiple meds ingested, etc. I love, Love, LOVE my sister, and my mini-me niece. The BIL is...challenging...can be...difficult. And my mother lives with them - she and I have been at odds since I exited the womb.

So, anyway, I got here on Thursday, and on Friday afternoon my Mother announced that she and I were going out to dinner that night. Alone.

"We are?"

"We are. My treat."

"Okaaaayyy." What I really wanted to ask was "What's the catch?" But...best behavior, remember.

So I'm out in the yard with my sister, we're in the pool, we're chasing kids, we're having a good time, when she tells me I'd better get ready to go out with Mother.

"What time is it? Is it that late already?" asks stupid me, looking up at the sky, trying to divine the time by the position of the sun.

"It isn't late, you'd just better go in."

It was 4:00.

I go in, shower off, get dressed, and at exactly 4:30 my Mother appears, purse in hand.

"I'm ready."

I look at the clock again. Surely it's later than I thought.

Nope. It is FOUR THIRTY. In the afternoon. Daylight Savings Time.

"Ma, it's 4:30."

Silence.

Best Behavior says to me, "I'm outta here - you're on your own, Kid."

"We're going to dinner at 4:30 in the afternoon. You're serious? Is there an early bird special someplace? Because we can pay full price. I can afford it. You don't have to treat."

"I'm hungry. This is what time I eat. When I go out with The Ladies, Pat picks me up at 4:15."

"Does she go to bed at 6:30?" Slip. Slip. Slip.

"No, 8:30."

Ah. Well, that explains it.

Needless to say, we sat at the only occupied table in the little Italian restaurant around the corner (I had to talk her out of going to Applebee's). The waiters looked at me like I was crazy, but were very nice.

Being the perpetual 10-year-old that I am, I ate octopus just to gross her out.

Paging Passive-Aggressive! Passive-Aggressive to table 15, please!"

When we finished it was 5:40. So I asked, "Do you want to go Christmas shopping?" In July, mind you.

"Sure," she said. "Carson's is having a big sale. We can knock out a few gifts."

Aaaahhhhh, like mother, like daughter.