Rant: My Mother

I thought I’d take a moment to remind everyone (all ten of you) of the definition of a “rant”. I know, I know… you already know, but it is one of the tags I use whne I decide I just can’t take it anymore and I can’t think of one “near witty”, “perilously close to being humorous”, or “I kind of wiggled the edges of my mouth and thought “tee hee”” thing to say.

So, for those of you who saw the tag “rant” and sent me a note saying “you sounded angry to me” – here’s the definition:


Violent or extravagant speech or writing.

A speech or piece of writing that incites anger or violence: “The vast majority [of teenagers logged onto the Internet] did not encounter recipes for pipe bombs or deranged rants about white supremacy” (Daniel Okrent).

rant. (n.d.). The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition. Retrieved July 08, 2008, from Dictionary.com website: http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/rant

Whew, we got that cleared up. Now, if you don’t mind I have a rant brewing.

My mother wasn’t a saint; to my knowledge she was never canonized nor beatified, but she was my Mom and on days when we weren’t doing that thing that sometimes mothers and daughters do best, I kind of liked her and vice versa. I hold my Mom in high regard, because she deserves no less and I’m probably even more sensitive about that today since she isn’t around to speak for herself or defend herself.

So… let’s get to it – the ranting – it’s why you’re still reading.

I’m at lunch yesterday and the subject of my Mom comes up – about how she always made a former co-worker of hers laugh. About how my Mom would tell a juicy story and get to the “good” part, the part told in low voices while checking to see if anyone is listening whom she didn’t want to overhear and say, “…and then we held hands… each others!” like she had divuldged something particularly risqué.

Johnny Penis, who thinks he’s God’s potential gift to the gene pool had been talking about all the women who had wanted to “date” him from this old office – Mom’s old office – where he’d started working at while my Mom was slowly dying at home. He never met her. He’s also sleazy.

“I’d wrap my tamale around your Mom.” I blinked. “I’d do your Mom.”


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