One day, my sister and mom and I went to lunch at a local (in Delaware) bakery/deli. The name of the place is Purebread and all the foods are dog-breed-monikered. The walls are also covered in black-and-white photos of dogs. If you like dogs, it's cute.
In honor of my namesake, a story about my mother (her. favorite.):
Welcome to my 28th year. I still only know like 20% of my family members' birthdays. It's going well, I think.
Today is my Aunt C's birthday. Which my mom texted to remind me this morning. But I don't really believe in birthdays and I'm terrible with dates so "remind" probably isn't the right word. I guess "inform" would be more appropriate.
My mom's not a big fan of dogs.
At one point, she got quiet as she scanned the room, and eventually made a noise of disgust. "What is it?" I asked. "Hm? Nothing. It's nothing." "What? You're clearly bothered by something." "Well it's just all these dogs. They're almost all male and they're all...exposed."
Like Lady fcking Grantham at a barbecue. Ugh. UGH. Are you JOKING with the genital art?! Could you not afford wallpaper or Ansel Adams oh my GAWD I will give you the money mySELF to remove this grotesque disPLAY.
I laughed so hard and loud and long I almost fell off my chair. She was pissed at me for like two days.
Also when my youngest sister was little Mom used to trick her into saying or hearing the word "penis" at least three times per week. So figure that out. I think that's what Freud would call a fixation.