Things that make my mother’s skin crawl

From the same folks who brought you talking ants and a big, honking lot of pasta salad comes this post:

Often while at my parent’s, I joke– as I often do– with my mother about letting the cats into the house, especially in the winter, even though I know she’s allergic. The same way that I joke with The Sister about putting ketchup on her fries even though I know she hates ketchup or catsup (which is it anyway? I’ve always gone with ketchup myself, because catsup sounds like something that a fur ball that a cat coughed up). It’s a brother thing. What can I say?

“You know they make me itch,” she’ll say.

Last night, though, I learned that not only cats make her itch, but also other things that one might not connect with itching.

When I offered her some popcorn I just popped in the microwave, she tells me:

“I can’t eat popcorn any more.”

“Why?”

“It makes me itch.”

“It makes you itch?” I ask incredulously.

“Yes, it makes me itch. I don’t know why, but it does.”

Later, a horse flies finds its way into the house by her recliner, which sits by a screen door.

“Don’t let it bite me! It makes me itch!”

She hastily adds: “Don’t laugh…and do not put this on a blog!”

Which, of course, immediately makes me laugh and go for my notebook.

Then as often happens in my parent’s house, she uses Scripture (it is sharper than any two-edged sword you know) on me: “Judge not, lest ye be judged.”

“Yea, it will return unto you hundredfold,” my dad says (okay, he didn’t actually say that, but it was something to that effect and said in a very Charlton Hestonesque voice).

Both of them tell me that as susceptible as I am to allergies that this is something about which I should not joke and my dad concludes the discussion:

“You’ve had nothing until you start to itch.”

Which, I guess, is true, when you think about it.

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This post also can be found at Unfinished Rambling(s).