Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.


My Mother, the Smartypants

So, tonight's surprise was that the cake maa ordered for papa sauce was decorated in a boat theme. Fisherman, boat, shark... all normal, except for the bait on the hook. Which looked like a penis, complete with scrotum. And a happy face.

This was a decal from the mennonite-y bakery, so I doubt it was on purpose, but damned if it wasn't the first thing you paid attention to on the cake.

So, with that in mind, I present the two stories I love most about my Maa. One, I may have told before, so bear with me.

When I was a wee tot, and my brother was freshly minted, my maa stayed home with us. Papa Sauce drove truck, and would be gone overnight a few times a week. Well, one night, Papa sauce came home after a run. He'd been gone for a few days, the house was in disarray, probably one of us had been sick, or demonic, or perhaps both. We had finally been put to bed, and Maa was finally getting the chance to clean up a bit. She happened to be vacuuming when Papa Sauce came in. After the usual pleasantries, he somehow comes out with "Well, what did YOU do all day?" as he's looking about the untidy house. This causes my mother to snap.

(It's important for me to note here that my mother weighs all of MAYBE 105, soaking wet. Always has. Probably always will.)

This is the early eighties. My mom's using a big-assed hoover upright. She is pissed. She picks the thing up, and whacks my father with it. She then elucidates that she has spent the entire day trekking after his demon spawn, and he'd better haul in his lip. (or words to that effect)

Moral of the story? Do NOT piss my mother off. (especially when vacuuming)

Story the second. This may be apocryphal, but I don't doubt that it COULD have happened. (You have to know my mother.)

A little back story here- this took place in the '70s, when the store paging systems were on sort of microphones at the individual registers. Within fairly easy reach.

Maa and Papa Sauce are at the local Shop and Save, picking up groceries. They get to the checkout line, and Maa notices that Papa Sauce's fly's down. The following conversation ensues:

Maa: Your fly's down.
PS: huh?
Maa: Yoooourrrr flyyyyyyy's doooooooown.
PS: What?
Maa: Your FLY is DOWN.
PS: I still can't hear you.
At this point, Maa grabs the intercom microphone, presses the button for "page the entire store" and says "YOUUUUUUUUUUURRRR FLLLLLLLLLLLLLYYYYYYYYYYYY ISSSSSSSSSSSS DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!"

Papa Sauce quickly zipped up, and they paid and left.

Moral of the story? Well, none, really. It's just funny.

And they wonder why I am the way I am...


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