Here's what you owe me.

Next time I'm in the city, you have to share some Kona and a smoke with me. K?

Here goes.

My mom was one of the hottest, most brilliant women on the planet. An ex-smoker, same thing happened to her one day and she couldn't smoke. We know from previous posts that she found her favorite drug to be alcohol, but that's a whole 'nuther story.

I was fifteen, had smoked with my friends over Thanksgiving and come back to my Mom's house with the gaggle of giggly girls. We went into the kitchen, pulled out the left overs from Thanksgiving (which were serious in my house, my mother's gravy was to die for) and made ourselves some plates.

We were muffling our words and giggles (as if we were soooooo coool and subtle) while my Mom and her girlfriends sat in the next room watching a movie. Had I been older and more in-tune, I'd have noticed they'd turned the sound down and were listening to us in the kitchen.

Over and over, I hit '1 minute' on my left-overs, with EXTRA gravy - and it wouldn't melt. For me, it seemed like the microwave and I had been going rounds for lifetimes and I really, really wanted it to be over.

Round the fourth or fifth '1 minute' interval, I called out to the living room "Mom! What's wrong with the microwave?!? It won't heat my gravy!" My mother was laughing her ass of at me on the couch. I went 'round the corner and glared at her in that fifteen-year old stance. "Perhaps if you hadn't had that last toke, you could get the gravy to melt," she endearingly said to me and continued to laugh at me, bold faced - and didn't offer to help me at all! I was mortified. She NEVER let me live that down.

...I can't remember if I had the balls to eat the mash totos and gravy or not. :)






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