Polite drivers? No way.

What is this new thing? The slow driver in front of me pulls over onto the shoulder and waves me around. And then so does the guy in front of him. At a stop sign, everyone looks around, smiling, and waits patiently for me to make the first move. They all laugh as we figure it out. The checkers at the supermarket smile and actually make eye contact as they hand me my receipt, after first commenting on the lovely weather (it is) and how they hope I’m having a good day (I am).

What is this strange place!? Evidently, all the hostility and frustration that forms smog clouds over cities evaporates up into the cloudless sky here. That weirds me out, man. Even the waitresses are polite and really mean for me to take my time ordering, and don’t mind the 5th or 6th refill. They bring it before I ask. And that’s just the crappy eating places. This ain’t no four-star.

What next? Some guy will tell me I left my lights on in the parking lot? Yep. They called around and matched up the bumperstickers to the car make and tracked me down.

I knew country folk were nice, but man. Even the drivers? That’s like finding out your mom is a robot. Has some ups, but mainly is just creepy and disconcerting. Sorta mainly. I mean, you could overlook the mom-robot creepiness in light of the upshot of reprogramming and hibernate button, but nice drivers? There’s no getting over that creepiness.

Nothing like a mother’s love

So where in our relationships do we come to the point where, oh let’s pull an example out of the air… YOUR MOM can say so frankly to you, while patting you on the spare tire, “Well gosh. Do you even exercise?” Even my best friends aren’t so open and helpful about my weight and diet. Golly gosh, mom, I’d have never thought to exercise. Thanks for that insightful tip! Do you think maybe if I changed my diet I might see results, too? I know that’s completely far-fetched, but hey, thought I’d run it by a guru like yourself. And here I thought just sitting in one place and clapping my hands would whisk me away to Neverland, where Tinkerbell would lead step aerobics in my dreams, and the Lost Boys would perform liposuction on me, all the while feeding me bon-bons.

Urge to kill… mother.. rising…

So, which is more offensive to hear coming from your mother?

a) No, you don’t look fat in this pict– oh, yeah you sure do. [bursts into uncontrollable laughter]
b) You can’t have Indian in your bloodlines. They’re not as hairy.
c) [Looking at pictures] You sure did get Gradma’s nose. Man was that thing huge and rubbery!!
d) How I think of you is “queen arrogance”.

Now, note that these were actual words, not interpretations. If I were to interpret, the phrase “I thought I’d take you to the airport today to get an earlier flight” (a week before the actual flight) would have been written like “You must go away and never enter my site again, oh horrible one. How you sprang from my loins I shall never fathom. You are a beast of unimaginable shame to me…” and so on; and “I’d like to come visit you, but who will take care of my animals?” would be “If you grew fur and a tail and moved a thousand miles closer I might like you.” Well, evidently more fur.

Oh, but my favorite is this.
Me: Well, I call you when I’m angry or frustrated and just need to vent. … Can I still call to vent to you?
Her: Sure, you can eVent or iRant or whatever you call it. I just don’t want to hear it if it’s unjust or slanted or unfair to the other person.

Ok, so pretty much never. Got it, thanks! I now hereby dedicate my new category: my mother.