Suckin Scale

I'm hot off a visit with the original SIF, my Mother. As you can imagine... she supplied me with endless material. It always makes me question when my real genes will kick in thus spawning her Mini Me. It's very Sci-Fi and quite frightening. Where to begin? The airport. My arrival always follows the same pattern. I deplane, grab the bags I paid an additional $400 to bring and then am attacked by a woman with spikey "blond" hair screaming "There's my baby!" Here are I am Mother...all 39 years and 459lbs of me. I'd run from the nursery if I was her.  I feared random bystanders wondered how large ones vag would have to be to birth all of that is me. Large. Moving along... After the initial attack we did the meet and greet with the only sane member of my family...Dad. He waited in the car as to avoid another $400 in parking fees whilst I was being molested by the blond Yetti at baggage claim. He so gets the better end of the deal. Typically Dad says something like, "You look good Kelly." Look... he married my Mother...twice...he's sort of an expert in the "lying at the appropriate moment category" *random sign of the cross for forgiveness* Mother on the other hand could use some work in this department. As evidenced by past comments such as "You don't look that bad." Classic.

Fresh off a standard round of lies, I got in the car and hoped for more where that came from. Nothing. Silence. I should share a bit of news that may shock and amaze you...I've lost 12lbs. No, please...stop...you're embarrassing me. ( I hear virtual clapping...yes I do). In any event, one would think Mother, in all her diet obsessed ways would have taken notice and thrown me a bone (preferably with some grizzle left on it). But no. Instead I got, "So do you think you will get hit by that next hurricane....oh what's that doobie do's name...oh yeah "Kadia." Yes, she pronounced it that way. Just slay the Kings English Mother. Who needs "t's" when "d's" roll off the tongue like that. The woman did not birth me. I told her I was no Jim Cantore but given my track record of visits (9/11 & Princess Di's death) I'm sure something was bound to go down. And not on me unfortunately. Since the sight of me 12lbs lighter only seemed to spark tragic conversations, I threw the bone at her. "So Mother, you didn't tell me I looked like I lost weight." Fatty pause. "Oh yes Kelly you do. I can tell. I thought I told you that. Doesn't she look thinner Jerry?" Great...now we are involving the innocent in our web of lies.

At least I know where I get my keen ability to stretch the truth. What's 10lbs between me and the DMV? 10 would be fine. 50 is more accurate. And a few inches on the height. And perhaps the eye color I've always wanted. Let's put it this way...if I ever get pulled over on one of those rare occasions when I've had 15 glasses of wine (ughum), Officer such and such may have trouble connecting the dots between the super model stats on paper and the train wreck behind the wheel. We have to keep law enforcement on their toes. They are servants of the public after all. Just doing my duty. But you see I come by it honestly right?  Mother made her Olympic debut back peddling the rest of the trip home. She reminded me  she wouldn't be making the chocolate cake we discussed previously. It was her civic duty to rescind. I didn't need her stinking chocolate mayonnaise cake...I was headed to a baby shower. And you know what that means right? Cake, frosting, cookies and...babies. 3 outa 4 aint bad." Mama to be" supplied me with endless amounts of wine to keep me from discussing plans to sell my uterus on Ebay. What? People have needs.

Everything was going fine until the crossword puzzle. It's fair to say I'm not a game person... sober. Or drunk. Or...ever. So I decided a few glasses of Shiraz to dull the pain was a good idea. Glass size. I think that may have been the issue? Scene: Baby shower. Girls fluttering around feeling bellies telling stories of birthing and cervix and pain. Diaper cakes, rattles, baby powder...you know the drill. As you can imagine I was 1 fry short of a meltdown. A. I don't get sex so none of this makes any sense to me. B. The last shower I attended was me naked with a bar of Coast. C. I'm a big fan of the spiked sherbet punch. In any event, glass size. That was the issue. The lovely Mother to be....who you wouldn't know was prego if she turned 180 degrees hooked me up with a 40oz wine glass. Love her. It always sounds like a good idea unless I'm involved. Take 1 part over tired, 2 parts fat aggressive and throw in equal parts food aggressive. What do you get....Aunt SIF and the dirty crossword.

In my defense...the rules were as follows: Don't start until we say so and the first one done wins. I feared I'd win an embryo so my plan was to stay silent. Not so much. I am competitive. Problem being...not so well versed in baby lingo. When in Rome....get a nice hotel room and ring George Clooney. That's what I always say. My strategy was to answer all of the ones I knew and then cheat off someone quicker than they could cheat off me thus scoring the prize. Very wholesome. Here's where the ladies at my table got stumped: Daddy's best friend. Interesting. I got that one right off the bat. There was lots of "Oh I know it's Grandma. No no it's Mommy." Duh. Amateurs.  Hooker. That's Daddy's best friend. It fit in every possible way. Hey I watch Jerry Springer for an educational moments just like this. Perhaps I should have said it softly? Or not at all? Can't be sure. It fit, I said it....game over. Don't think I'll be getting an invite to the next one. I'm worldly and honest. That Your Honor is self defense.

My strategy for the rest of the week was to be as lazy as I could possibly be in order to keep my caloric requirements down. Do not try this at home.  One day I thought it would be adventurous to take Mother and my Aunt on a 3 hour walk. Uphill. Think she'll remember to tell me how thin I look next time? I think so. Half way down the hill....MIF came out. "You know Kelly, we can all go eat after this. We will be burning calories for hours" SIF logic at it's best.  I know what you are thinking...she's right? If you don't read between the lines, yes she is correct. However, this woman raised me. I know the agenda. This walk was good for a week of non stop binging. I humored her with a nice fatty lunch for a job well done. Before the last chip grazed my lips it came to pass..."We should go get ice cream. We earned it. And we are still burning." I dare say the only time I burned more than this 3 hour walk was that trip to the gyno involving a one night stand and not enough information. However, I humored her and ate the ice cream. It was easier than listening to the burning agenda for the next 3 days.  Of course Dad wanted ice cream later that night. So I volunteered to walk up there with him. Before you get judgie...it wasn't to get another cone and blame the burn. My flame was out. I like to hear my Dad order a baby cone and ask for the senior discount. The look is priceless. Then he scrapes half the ice cream off the cone and feeds it to lawn. *Random sign of the cross.* I guess the question is...where are these genes in me? Nowhere to be found. Only one reason...fraud. Mother...start talkin

I leave you with a little story about a scale. Mothers scale. She controls the over under on this thing better than a Vegas bookie. So I step on the scale 2 days into my vacation. When I left home my scale said I was down 6 lbs. Mothers said 10. Of course it did. The oldest trick in the book. 2 days later I tried again. Down 14lbs. God this woman is good. She had to be sneaking down in the middle of the night rigging the odds in my favor. It was her way of saying I'm sorry for the airport incident. I brought this matter to the attention of my Father and my Aunt. My Dad of course knew what was going on  and simply smirked. My Aunt offered her scales which she claimed were in sync with the doctors. Excellent. I borrowed the scale. Why I didn't see this coming is beyond me. According to her scales I was 6lbs heavier than Mothers. Of course I was. I shared this tidbit with my bookie and you can only imagine what ensued. "What do you mean? I'm actually 6lbs heavier than I thought? How can that be right? I calculated those suckin points to a "T?" Well I am just depressed." Dad chimed in with logic. "If your scale said you weighed X when you started and now it says something else that means you lost that much weight right?" Oh Father, where art thou SIFness? Where was he going with this? We all know what comes next right? "Well that just pisses me off bcs I think I weigh one thing and I am 6 suckin pounds more than I thought." Madness...fucking madness.

The next day my other Aunt stopped by. I told her about the scale incident. She offered up her scales which she claimed were 3 lbs less than my other Aunts and in line with her doctors. Do you see a pattern here? The gene pool originated at a nuclear reactor! Dad chimed in and suggested we just stop weighing ourselves for now. Excellent plan. Mother sulked for days. That is until I got home, weighed myself on my scale which jived with her scale and counteracted the other scales....times 2 carry the four. She was most pleased. "I knew it was right. I could tell you lost weight the moment I saw you."  Apparently Heaven put up the "No Vacancy" sign bcs Mother is surely headed south for the winter!!!