tonight. i witnessed the song "rack city, bitch" come to life.
It's been a couple months since I've seen my mother so I was delighted when she informed me she'd make the long trip down here for Veteran's Day weekend. when my family visits it always means I'll be blessed with groceries, some new clothes and guaranteed laughs. tonight however, I was given much more than a laugh. I was given the opportunity to throw dollar bills at my Mother, like a lost soul on a pole... in a department store. Only this wouldn't have quenched any thirst for a dirty fantasy had by anybody that got a little hot at the thought of a good bargain.
When you walk into Target, you're greeted by large red balls... I love being greeted by balls, that are really big and in your face. They're so inviting and fun. That's why they make pits full of them.. most sports involve them and let's be honest you were not expecting me to be talking little spheres. pervert. Another thing I was greeted by this night was the blinding proof that my mother does not use her own tanning beds or common sense.
We were walking down the aisles digging into each rack of clothes like the harder we looked the cheaper the clothes would get. Tags were flying, the booming of Silver Bells was over powering my ear drums, my own exhaustion from the day had me feeling a little delusional and then I hear it...
"nichole.. do you think this buttom up is nice?""yeah i dont mind it. with those orange pants?"
"yeah but i need to try it on first..."
Now, let me interject my own conversation and describe my mother's attire (which is not unlike her)... Bra, Tank Top, Button Up Cardigan and a scarf. oh and pants. Now on my way out of this interjection, I'll leave you with, she was not wearing one of those items.
It seems as if the world turned to slow motion as I turned my head back to see if the shirt she had picked out in fact did fit her. However, as she lifted her cardigan sweater up in the middle of the aisle of the very busy, very lit Target I realized she wasn't actually wearing her tank top that she had been so confident in. I tried to call out to her..
(in slow motion voice) "Moooom. Nooooo!"
"whaaaat?"(in really high pitched voice) "MOM! YOU'RE NAKED!"
Her arms crossed all the way above her head, with a handful of sweater in each fist as if she was holding onto that blue friggin diamind when the Titanic was sinking, and the rest of the cardigan sitting at her elbows, while her breasticles and belly were feeling out the room's temperature is when her reaction began. It was similar to that of when you're getting undressed in the bathroom to take your shower and someone walks in...you're not sure which part to cover first so your body goes into a tourettes like defense trying to cover all your goodies at once. Well imagine my petite little mother, trying to cover ONE part of her body with her hands in a knitted vice, stuck above her head as if she was waving to onlookers "NUDITY, AISLE FIVE!" Victoria's secret and my worst nightmare was on the table... my mom and her bits all out for the discount shoppers to see. I'm just glad she wasn't wearing a mistletoe necklace or shit could've gotten real weird, real fast.
I tried very hard to shield her from prying eyes but the laugh that erupted from me was more of a call of attention than a plee for avoidance. At this point, she's bent over with her shirt still over her head because she can't get her arms down, so I did what any daughter would... I grabbed her by the back of the neck into a submission type hold and without letting her lose conciousness I pulled her shirt down. Felt like I was in a hockey fight, all I needed to do was punch her but in this instance there was no need for violence.
I'm just glad stores dont let you try on thongs, who knows what would've happened next.
God Bless America.
