Calling Mom

After being in an accident I felt a certain obligation (not desire) to tell my parents. Also, realizing that I wrote a blog about the accident and that at some point Sandy would read it and most likely bring it up in conversation to my mother at some point, I wasn't willing to hear the rantings and ravings that would follow such a breach of etiquette as telling the whole world before my own mother. And so I called her.

"Hi, Mom. I realize it's early there and I hope I didn't wake you. But I just wanted to inform you that I was in an accident last night. Nobody was injured and I have already filed my claim with my insurance company and it will be taken care of shortly."
"Oh, okay. How bad is the car?"
"It's not pretty. But fixable."
"Okay."
"Ya, it's been kind of a bad week."
"Why?"
"Well, like I said I got in a car accident which wasn't really all that enjoyable. And on Thursday a little boy in my first grade class told me that he was being abused at home."
"Oh dear."
"I know. It's all very sad."
"Huh. Anyway, did I tell you about...?"

And she began her regular rantings and my part in the proper mother/daughter etiquette was taken care of. I thought it went rather well. It was clear. Concise. Over.

I thought.

Less than a half hour later I get a call from Julie. Who got a call from Sandy. Who got a call from my mother on her business line. Apparantly my mother found it to be her responsibility to tell the world that I had been in a bad car accident and that she wasn't sure if I was alright or if I knew how to take care of the insurance issue. She sent these poor people into a needless flurry of anxiety and what for? Who knows. The woman is crazy. And to top it off I finally got a call from my father. He asked me what kinds of horrific marks I had seen on the boys arms that I had told my mom about. What marks? I hadn't seen any marks. How did she get such a twisted story out of what I said? I mean, I like making up crap as much as the next girl but there has got to be lines drawn in the twisted game of human mental torment.

I used to feel really bad about not telling my mom anything about my personal life. But now I realize that it doesn't make me a jerk. It makes me a genius.