Last year, my mom moved in with my ninety-year-old grandmother, and I moved into my mom’s house. It was a way for my mom to keep her house and for me to get away from my crazy, nasty, chain-smoking neighbor and her boyfriend, Dr. Pepper. (See July '05 posts for stories about my neighbor if interested. Blogger won't let me link to my archives.) Anyway, it’s been great. I love the house and it’s close to all the jobs from which I’ve been fired since I moved in. The only complaint, and it’s really nothing, is that my mom still gets all of her mail here, where I live. I feel as if I need to get her mail to her within a couple of days of receiving it, and it’s a bother. Hey, I’m single and I don’t like responsibility, so it gets on my nerves, but I’m overlooking it since I’m going to be moving away in August. Tonight, however, something happened that made me quite upset.
As I was sitting here, on my sofa, braless of course, in a t-shirt and panties, eating my bowl of bran (single person’s meal in bowl) there was a knock at the door. I looked up and there was a man grinning at me through the window at the front door. I jumped! up, almost spilling my cereal and ran to put on a robe. When I returned from the bedroom and answered the door, the man said he was from a local Methodist Church and was delivering a goody basket to me and he thanked me for visiting his church yesterday. I told him I didn’t attend his church yesterday and he said that this was the address on the Visitor’s Card. I then realized that my mother must have gone there yesterday and used this address. She’s been church-shopping for years and so I wasn’t surprised. I was, however, aggravated that she used my address!!! Poor guy, just out delivering nice little goody bags of fresh baked bread and coffee mugs and candy and gets flashed by Vanessa and her very white cellulite thighs. Do I hear a Holy Shit?