electric mist

smack me with the stupid stick

My oldest son was here a little while ago with his girlfriend. He'd been waiting until after finals to do his Christmas shopping and now that they're over and he's survived (sort of), he was going to go pick out her present tonight. He wanted to ask my advice, so he made an excuse to go to the back of the house and a few minutes later, I followed. (I have yet to actually see him "fold some clothes to bring back to [his] house" so I knew that was complete bollocks and an obvious ruse.) His plan was to drop her off at a friend's house and pick up her present, then meet them out.

In the process of talking about the gift, which type to purchase, what accessories he was going to need, he mentioned which store he was going to. A few minutes later, and right before we went back into the other room where his girldfriend was, he said, "Now, don't mention the store. Whatever you do, she's already suspicious."

I could not believe he had the nerve to warn me. ME. Who is such an old pro at hiding what people have for Christmas, I could give lessons. The person who was so convincing when not letting someone figure out what they'd had for a present, they went and bought another damned one of them for themselves, which meant me returning the original. The person who sat with someone for THREE HOURS and fixed some things on their old computer, even though I knew they had a new one about to show up in two days, but I knew that they knew I would know what they were getting and I didn't want them to figure it out, so I fixed a junk computer for THREE HOURS that I'll never get back because they ended up not ever using that old computer again. I am a PRO at this, baby. A pro. The CIA should hire me. I am that good.

So what did I do when I walked back out there where my son was now standing not far from his girlfriend? Did I strike up the witty, diverting banter? Did I talk about the weather, the holiday lights, the traffic, the way that my neighbor's 16-year-old son had shown up at my back door clad only in his boxers because he'd gotten his car stuck in the mud when he wasn't where he was supposed to be and he was trying to keep his clothes clean so his mom wouldn't find out and wanted my youngest son to help him get out of the mud? (Didn't work.) No, of all of the three quibillion things I could have said right then, what did I, the professional present-hiderer, supreme secret keeper do?

I looked at the shirt he had on, noticed a hole in the front and said, "You're not really going to wear that to Best Buy, are you?"

Yes, just smack me with the stupid stick. Man.

He turned (where she couldn't see him) and gave me that long, slow death glare he's perfected (I don't know where he could have possibly learned that one from). And I tried to cover.

"Well, I mean, seriously, it's a crap shirt and you've got to pick up that present for your dad for me and you'll have my check to pay them. I don't want them to think you're some sort of bum who mugged me in the parking lot."

"Gee, Mom. Thanks."

"Hey, I'm just here to help." (If looks could kill, I'd be sizzling right now.)

Something tells me the CIA isn't going to be calling anytime soon.

Posted by toni at December 20, 2004 06:46 PM