When the legendary parental figure and caretaker, our Mom, was available for an interview literally any time for the past three years, we passed, believing that we had all the information we needed from her. But with everything that’s happened in the world during that time, and with our dipshit landlord breathing down our necks, a follow-up interview with the matriarch seemed appropriate, and to be honest lucrative.
We called mom for a brief, (please God let it be brief,) interview at her home somewhere in Vermont, we forget what town.
The Hard Times: Hey Mom! It’s me, how are you doing, how are things?
Mom: Well Hi! Haven’t heard from you in a while, how are you? What can I do for you?
Not much, just wanted to check up on you. See how things are. I love you!
Oh, I get it. How much do you need?
How much? Oh, you mean money? Mom, come on, I just wanted to talk to you!
Well that’s a surprise, you know you didn’t come home for Aunt Libby’s funeral. Didn’t even call.
What? I thought I did. I called, I’m sure I did. Anyway, how’s Dad?
He’s getting worse, not sure how much time he has left. Would you like me to put him on? He’s right here.
Nah, that’s okay! Just tell him I say hello.
He’s right next to me, you’re on speaker, you can tell him yourself.
No, that’s fine! I don’t want to bother him.
Well, I’m glad you called, it has been a while.
Totally! Yeah I’ve just been busy with like, stuff.
I could use someone to talk to, I’ve been having a pretty rough time lately. Between looking after your father and Libby’s funeral and the quarantine, you know because of my asthma I’ve barely left the house since this whole thing…
Actually speaking of money, I mean like just, since you mentioned it…
At this point, mom’s phone must have ran out of battery, because the call disconnected. Although she almost caught us, we are confident the check is in the mail. We plan on scheduling an awkward follow-up interview next month when we move back home, and tell ourselves it’s “to take care of her.”