19 July 2014
745
R. Linda:
Me, Mam, has moved in, and she seems as settled as she can be with three kiddos finding her a novelty. The poor woman has no time to herself, but she's been perfect and patient with the three whirlwinds that ambush her as soon as she appears anywhere in the house.
She also has managed to pick up three suitors in a very short period. The first one was at the grocery store. She was all about going to an American supermarket, so I took her. She got a cart, and I got a cart. She insisted she needed a cart of her own, thus two instead of the one we needed. I went to put mine back, but she told me not to because I had Tonya's shopping list. I should take care of that, and she'd pretend to shop for herself. I didn't ask; I just did as bidden.
We'd meet occasionally, and in one aisle, she had a bag of Dove white chocolate bits, and that was it. I smiled and went on me way, and she smiled and went on hers. At one point I caught up to her in the drink aisle. She had in her cart (besides the chocolate bits) two large packages of chicken wings, a six-pack of some beer I'd never heard of, two cartons of Coke A Cola and a 12-pack of Snapple Iced Tea. As I came upon her, a man about her age also approached her. He looked in her cart and said, "So you having a party?"
Looking stunned, she stammered, "Yes, yes I om."
"So, it looks like you have all the fixings. Chicken wings, beer, that's going to be a GOOD party."
"Oh, oh, I hoop so," says she in her Irish accent, flustered and looking in her cart.
"Your husband's a lucky man," he grins.
"Oh, noo, noo, noo hoosband," she says shaking her head in adamant denial.
"So when's the party?" Asks himself.
"Oh . . . Oh . . . Wednesday," she finally says brightly, thinking Americans are a friendly lot.
"Can I come?" Asks himself.
That's when I stepped in.
"Mam's, what's this then?" I said, pointing to the items in her cart.
"Oh, I taught I'd make ye soom of me special chicken, and I bought soom beer fer ya sonny." Says she.
I looked at the old geezer and raised me baseball hat in greeting, and he continued on, getting my subtle message. I tell ya!
We briefly discussed my paying for the goods in her basket, but she wouldn't hear of it. She wanted the 'full American supermarket experience'. So we pulled over to a checkout, and I let her go first. The man doing the bagging looked like a leprechaun with dark brown hair. His eyebrows were arched in the most mischievous, demonic way I'd ever seen. He shouts (because I thought he might be hard of hearing) at me, Mam, "HELLO THERE! HOW ARE YOU TODAY? DO YOU WANT THE BEER IN A BAG OR OUT?"
Mam is used to answering one question at a time, and I heard her mutter under her breath, "Oh dear me."
She smiled and looked at the checkout girl, who was busy ringing up her items, then back at the loud little man. She heaved a sigh and quickly said to him in a rather loud voice to match his own, "HELLO YERSEL, I BE FINE TODAY, NO LEAVE DA BEER OOT."
"OH IRISH ARE YE?" Says he with a huge smile, "ME TOO! PEOPLE FROM COUNTY CORK!"
"OH, HOW NICE FER YERSEL!" She shouts, nodding, and I know she is thinking, ugh, County Cork!
He asks her about bagging this and bagging that or keeping it out, and he's busy putting bright orange stickers on everything to indicate they've been paid. He keeps a loud, running conversation with herself, and she tries to keep up until he asks if she is having a party. He wanted to know if she was eating all that chicken because if she was, he'd love to join her.
She turns to me at this and whispers, "Are dey all like dis? Or, is it da poultry?"
I smiled and shrugged, for I'd never been accosted in the supermarket, but one time, it wasn't even comparable. I had been at the checkout with heavy items, like soft drinks, fruit drinks for the kiddos and some beer for meself, when I noticed the bagger was an old woman who looked like she was in her 70s. She was slowly putting the crisps and Cheetos in a bag. I thought to help her by putting the heavy drinks on the bottom of me cart. She stopped what she was doing, put her hands on her hips and informed me she was "very capable of doing THAT!" Shopping in America is a whole different adventure from bringing your own bags to market and bagging yourself.
But back to me, grey-haired apple-cheeked Irish Mam. She pulls on me sleeve and whispers up, "Do ye tip dese people fer putting da foodstuffs in da baggies?"
"Oh no, no, no, no," I said quickly.
"Are ye sure?"
"Oh yes, very," I replied.
R. Linda:
Me, Mam, has moved in, and she seems as settled as she can be with three kiddos finding her a novelty. The poor woman has no time to herself, but she's been perfect and patient with the three whirlwinds that ambush her as soon as she appears anywhere in the house.
She also has managed to pick up three suitors in a very short period. The first one was at the grocery store. She was all about going to an American supermarket, so I took her. She got a cart, and I got a cart. She insisted she needed a cart of her own, thus two instead of the one we needed. I went to put mine back, but she told me not to because I had Tonya's shopping list. I should take care of that, and she'd pretend to shop for herself. I didn't ask; I just did as bidden.
We'd meet occasionally, and in one aisle, she had a bag of Dove white chocolate bits, and that was it. I smiled and went on me way, and she smiled and went on hers. At one point I caught up to her in the drink aisle. She had in her cart (besides the chocolate bits) two large packages of chicken wings, a six-pack of some beer I'd never heard of, two cartons of Coke A Cola and a 12-pack of Snapple Iced Tea. As I came upon her, a man about her age also approached her. He looked in her cart and said, "So you having a party?"
Looking stunned, she stammered, "Yes, yes I om."
"So, it looks like you have all the fixings. Chicken wings, beer, that's going to be a GOOD party."
"Oh, oh, I hoop so," says she in her Irish accent, flustered and looking in her cart.
"Your husband's a lucky man," he grins.
"Oh, noo, noo, noo hoosband," she says shaking her head in adamant denial.
"So when's the party?" Asks himself.
"Oh . . . Oh . . . Wednesday," she finally says brightly, thinking Americans are a friendly lot.
"Can I come?" Asks himself.
That's when I stepped in.
"Mam's, what's this then?" I said, pointing to the items in her cart.
"Oh, I taught I'd make ye soom of me special chicken, and I bought soom beer fer ya sonny." Says she.
I looked at the old geezer and raised me baseball hat in greeting, and he continued on, getting my subtle message. I tell ya!
We briefly discussed my paying for the goods in her basket, but she wouldn't hear of it. She wanted the 'full American supermarket experience'. So we pulled over to a checkout, and I let her go first. The man doing the bagging looked like a leprechaun with dark brown hair. His eyebrows were arched in the most mischievous, demonic way I'd ever seen. He shouts (because I thought he might be hard of hearing) at me, Mam, "HELLO THERE! HOW ARE YOU TODAY? DO YOU WANT THE BEER IN A BAG OR OUT?"
Mam is used to answering one question at a time, and I heard her mutter under her breath, "Oh dear me."
She smiled and looked at the checkout girl, who was busy ringing up her items, then back at the loud little man. She heaved a sigh and quickly said to him in a rather loud voice to match his own, "HELLO YERSEL, I BE FINE TODAY, NO LEAVE DA BEER OOT."
"OH IRISH ARE YE?" Says he with a huge smile, "ME TOO! PEOPLE FROM COUNTY CORK!"
"OH, HOW NICE FER YERSEL!" She shouts, nodding, and I know she is thinking, ugh, County Cork!
He asks her about bagging this and bagging that or keeping it out, and he's busy putting bright orange stickers on everything to indicate they've been paid. He keeps a loud, running conversation with herself, and she tries to keep up until he asks if she is having a party. He wanted to know if she was eating all that chicken because if she was, he'd love to join her.
She turns to me at this and whispers, "Are dey all like dis? Or, is it da poultry?"
I smiled and shrugged, for I'd never been accosted in the supermarket, but one time, it wasn't even comparable. I had been at the checkout with heavy items, like soft drinks, fruit drinks for the kiddos and some beer for meself, when I noticed the bagger was an old woman who looked like she was in her 70s. She was slowly putting the crisps and Cheetos in a bag. I thought to help her by putting the heavy drinks on the bottom of me cart. She stopped what she was doing, put her hands on her hips and informed me she was "very capable of doing THAT!" Shopping in America is a whole different adventure from bringing your own bags to market and bagging yourself.
But back to me, grey-haired apple-cheeked Irish Mam. She pulls on me sleeve and whispers up, "Do ye tip dese people fer putting da foodstuffs in da baggies?"
"Oh no, no, no, no," I said quickly.
"Are ye sure?"
"Oh yes, very," I replied.
"Seems everyone in dis contree expects ta be tipped, dey do." She nodded, looking confused.
With that, she returned her attention to the man, ignoring that he had left a question about eating chicken lingering in the air. She paid the bill, and he asked her if she needed help getting her market items to the car. Oh no, she informs him, points at me and says, "Dat's me strapping big sonny boy, he can do it." And with that, she goes off with her cart, leaving him looking after her, or I should say leering after her until he turns to look at me and starts bagging me items.
"FINE WOMAN THAT!" He says to me, "YOU VISITING FROM THE OLD SOD OR LIVE NEARBY?"
I wasn't telling him where we lived, so I said SHE was visiting, and I lived in Vermont. I thought of doing some shopping on this side of the border. Like he believed that.
I got out of there and went to the car. Mam had finished putting all her wares in the boot. She wanted to know if she could drive the car to experience the great American highway. I took pause.
"You know they don't drive on the right side of the road here. They drive on the other?"
"Of course, I knoo dat, so give over the keys and I will be careful." She said.
I reluctantly handed over the keys as I finished putting items in the boot, and she familiarised herself with the dashboard. I did all this packing up food items slowly, trying to think of a way to get the keys back and get her in the passenger seat. But I could think of nothing she couldn't argue me out of. Oi!
After many seat and mirror adjustments, she got herself situated, carefully backed out, and got to the service road. She was fine, then to the highway and into the slow lane. She was okay with that too. She informed me we needed petrol and should she stop at the petrol station, she could see ahead. I said yes and that the gas tank was on me side and to pull in. The station was one of the few that was not self-service, so I stayed in the car as the attendant approached. He looked in and smiled at Mam. He was a little younger than her, but he didn't seem to notice an age difference as he said, "Hello, lovely lady, what can I get for you?"
She giggled, the silly woman, not expecting THAT, and then looked at me and asked, "Regular?"
I nodded, and she said, "Regular", and the attendant put the gas nozzle in. But then he came back to chat, and his smile was one of infrequent teeth, but Mam made not to notice. They were discussing the weather when he suddenly asked, "Did you say you cut hair?"
"Uh . . . noo, I did not." She answered, a wee bit flustered.
"Oh, I thought the last time you were in, you said you were a hairdresser."
"Dis be me first time here." She informed him.
"Oh? I could have sworn . . . Anyway, the gal cut my hair too short," he says, running a greasy hand through very short-cropped hair. You can see my bald spot." He shook his head in disapproval.
I won't bore you with the give and take that went back and forth on his haircut so he'd look good when he went to a gun show. Did she like guns? Oh, she supposed so. I sat there thinking I didn't just hear that, but I did. Was she new to the neighbourhood? Well, yes, yes, she was; she was still moving in. OH! Was she now? Well, if she needed help, he'd be glad to run over and help her unpack. Yeah, I bet he would. I tell ya!
Well, we laughed about the three pickup artists, and I looked at her and thought, "You know, she doesn't look her age, and she's kind of a cutie even if she is me, Mam."
"So, which of those guys is the new man in your life?" I asked half-jokingly.
"Och! Notta one. I be done wit men, never again! I be strictly me own woman and I don't need a man!" She protested with, I will say, a lot of Irish vigour. "Besides, I be livin' in a hoose wit tree young boyos and den dere be yer grown self. Dat be quite enough."
I had to chuckle to meself. She is a strong woman and a wilful one. I don't think I must worry about her with all these "friendly" American men. She'll get the hang of it soon enough. But how can these guys sense a single woman without seeing her before?
Like she said, there are a lot of old geezers in the world, oversexed, overrated, and more ready for the undertaker than they know. Trying to capture their youth she says, while she'd rather enjoy her family and grow old gracefully. I think she's on to something there.
Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved
I got out of there and went to the car. Mam had finished putting all her wares in the boot. She wanted to know if she could drive the car to experience the great American highway. I took pause.
"You know they don't drive on the right side of the road here. They drive on the other?"
"Of course, I knoo dat, so give over the keys and I will be careful." She said.
I reluctantly handed over the keys as I finished putting items in the boot, and she familiarised herself with the dashboard. I did all this packing up food items slowly, trying to think of a way to get the keys back and get her in the passenger seat. But I could think of nothing she couldn't argue me out of. Oi!
After many seat and mirror adjustments, she got herself situated, carefully backed out, and got to the service road. She was fine, then to the highway and into the slow lane. She was okay with that too. She informed me we needed petrol and should she stop at the petrol station, she could see ahead. I said yes and that the gas tank was on me side and to pull in. The station was one of the few that was not self-service, so I stayed in the car as the attendant approached. He looked in and smiled at Mam. He was a little younger than her, but he didn't seem to notice an age difference as he said, "Hello, lovely lady, what can I get for you?"
She giggled, the silly woman, not expecting THAT, and then looked at me and asked, "Regular?"
I nodded, and she said, "Regular", and the attendant put the gas nozzle in. But then he came back to chat, and his smile was one of infrequent teeth, but Mam made not to notice. They were discussing the weather when he suddenly asked, "Did you say you cut hair?"
"Uh . . . noo, I did not." She answered, a wee bit flustered.
"Oh, I thought the last time you were in, you said you were a hairdresser."
"Dis be me first time here." She informed him.
"Oh? I could have sworn . . . Anyway, the gal cut my hair too short," he says, running a greasy hand through very short-cropped hair. You can see my bald spot." He shook his head in disapproval.
I won't bore you with the give and take that went back and forth on his haircut so he'd look good when he went to a gun show. Did she like guns? Oh, she supposed so. I sat there thinking I didn't just hear that, but I did. Was she new to the neighbourhood? Well, yes, yes, she was; she was still moving in. OH! Was she now? Well, if she needed help, he'd be glad to run over and help her unpack. Yeah, I bet he would. I tell ya!
Well, we laughed about the three pickup artists, and I looked at her and thought, "You know, she doesn't look her age, and she's kind of a cutie even if she is me, Mam."
"So, which of those guys is the new man in your life?" I asked half-jokingly.
"Och! Notta one. I be done wit men, never again! I be strictly me own woman and I don't need a man!" She protested with, I will say, a lot of Irish vigour. "Besides, I be livin' in a hoose wit tree young boyos and den dere be yer grown self. Dat be quite enough."
I had to chuckle to meself. She is a strong woman and a wilful one. I don't think I must worry about her with all these "friendly" American men. She'll get the hang of it soon enough. But how can these guys sense a single woman without seeing her before?
Like she said, there are a lot of old geezers in the world, oversexed, overrated, and more ready for the undertaker than they know. Trying to capture their youth she says, while she'd rather enjoy her family and grow old gracefully. I think she's on to something there.
Gabe
Copyright © 2014 All rights reserved
8 comments:
awww your mam is in for a culture shock lol
Gabriel O'Sullivan's MATCHMAKING SERVICE! I LOVE IT!
Nooo.
Is your mam interested in a much younger man? LOL
WHAT?
Aw bless her heart. Sons always have a hard time when anyone comes on to their mother. LOL Never fails. Don't worry Gabe, seems to me she can take care of herself very well LOL
I know she can. But considering the bad time she's had one gets protective.
Yes, completely understandable. She is lucky to have you :-)
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