My mother kisses me with that mouth?

This morning my mom and I drove into Anchorage together. She drops me off at my notjob on her way to her actualjob. She asked me how the notjob was going and said that if she lived in Anchorage she would consider volunteering there as well.

Me: You could volunteer at the Eagle River branch, though.

Mom: Chuh. I'd have to get immunized before I could volunteer there.

On the way home we had this exchange after the big truck in front of us took its sweet time getting out of intersection, leaving us trailing behind as an easy target for other large assault vehicles or animals.

Mom: [general expressions of annoyance at the slow person in front of us]

Me: He has a handicapped sticker.

Mom: Oh, whatever. Just about anyone can get one of those things now. If he were really handicapped he would be driving one of those special cars.

Me: [blink]

As I opened my mouth to tell her I was going to blog that, she said, "And you can blog that. I don't even care."

So. Strong words, friends. If you're going to be having a handicapped sticker on your car you'd better make sure there's a forklift attached to it. Or something else to show my mom that you're not faking.

Also, Happy Late Birthday to my mother. She looks about 15 years younger than her actual age, which I must either attribute to great genetics or to the bathing in the blood of virgins by moonlight.

I'm not judging.

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