As the great God Britney once said, “Mama, I’m in love with a criminal,” which I think she meant as “Mama, why are you a criminal?” At least, that’s my interpretation of the song, because really, who wants to sing about their criminal mother? (answer: shockingly few, unless you call the poet Eminem to the stage).

Note to Eminem: I’m the real Slim Shady and I’m standing the fuck up.

Now, my mother isn’t the type of criminal mastermind that could pull off a bank heist or steal back a priceless piece of lost Nazi art – the woman is still baffled by caller ID and call waiting. She has an email address, I think, but I’m not sure she knows what it is or how to access all the important forwards my father sends her, which, now that I think on it, is probably a blessing of sorts.

No, she’s a far more nefarious sort.

I say that because she’s got terrible arthritis and looks like, well, a grandmother, and who thinks Grandma is about to commit illegal activities? Honestly, it’s the most perfect cover I’ve seen.

A couple of weeks ago, when I was dining from the infectious disease menu, my mother helped me run some errands because, well, I could hardly walk and I felt pretty pathetic at the very thought of using one of those motorized carts to get me through the store without having people lob things in my direction because I’m not technically disabled. I’m telling you Pranksters, after busting my foot while pregnant, I have a whole new sympathy for people with disabilities. People treat you so bizarrely when you have your foot in Das Boot – like that must mean that you probably can’t hear properly. I don’t know HOW many clerks screamed very slowly at me while I purchased my People Magazines and edamame.

Alas, I digress.

A few days ago, my mother braved seeing her daughter, Typhoid Becky, and swung over for a visit to bring me some Jello, which, it turns out, there IS always room for. We were chatting about this and that, nothing nefarious (unless you count my hideous Christmas tree, which you probably should as a crime against humanity) until she laid it out for me.

“They really need to put better lighting on your apartment complex,” she dropped on me.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I don’t know how many times people have driven to the other entrance to the other side of my complex.”

“I did that the other day!” She exclaimed.

I just nodded and giggled, figuring it was akin to her using the GPS on her car – baffling, yet somehow she managed to make it meow when it hits certain streets. See? NEFARIOUS.

Then the bomb dropped.

“I found the apartment I thought was yours and walked into it,” she told me, laughing a bit.

My jaw dropped.

“You did WHAT?” I asked her, aghast that she’d walked into my neighbors home.

“Yeah, it was all decorated weirdly like yours and everything! It was only when I noticed the shoes were too small for you that I realized I had the wrong place.”

“MOM!” I scolded. “What did this person DO?”

“No one was home,” she claimed, almost… proudly.

My jaw hung open, collecting flies.

“You’re damn lucky no one called the police,” I finally replied.

“I’m an old lady,” she said. “I’d beat them with my cane.”

“You don’t have a cane, Ma,” I pointed out.

“Yeah,” she replied. “But I could improvise.”

When my head smacked the desk, no one was surprised.

15 thoughts on “My Mother, The Criminal

  1. My neighbours do this to us all the time. Well, they try to, but we’ve learned to always keep it locked. We have a wreath, doormat, and our name on the bloody door, but it doesn’t seem to stop them from thinking its their place. Once, they tried to move a sofa in. Should have let them.

  2. Is there a new site design or am I in a time warp continuum? Not sure I like it – weird background thing happens when I scroll……

  3. Serves them right for not locking the door.

    ok… the background isn’t moving. I scrolled up and down about five or six times and it didn’t catch. Is that supposed to happen?

  4. Seriously, no one was home, yet the door was unlocked? Unless you’re in a town like Mayberry, people, lock your doors!!!

  5. I was a leasing agent back in the day and I was taking a guy to see a unit, I had a dyslexic moment and ended up unlocking and walking into someones apartment. Unfortunately, the lady living there was home we both screamed at the same time…her “WTF” & my “OMG I’m SOOO sorry!!” After that I always wrote down the floor and unit # and triple checked along the way.

  6. Hey…my mother really is a covert narcissist and really is a criminal. The same as your mom, only she got herself a WALKER, and she doesn’t need it. When I was a kid, she forged my dad’s name at a bank and got a MORTGAGE on the family farm. My dad was clueless! Then she had bank accounts all over town and even had some in my name. she would wake me up early in the morning and say, “Wake up!! Sign these checks!” and she’d get caught every time.
    if that was my mom going into the neighbors apartment?? my mom would have gone directly into the bathroom, looked for good narcotics acted like she was disoriented and need an ambulance. Thats a Mother who’s a criminal

    1. Not sure if even Great White Rapper could come up with good Rap about my NPD Mother.

      Maybe a good Rap up side her head witha boom boom ssssssss aboom sssssss yooo. Sap.


  7. ]The irony in that song is that it doesn’t seem that Britney’s mom was ever a criminal .She was more of a second-grade teacher who may have gone fame-whore-by-proxy very briefly. If she committed a bona fide crime, it was in that name of trying to spare her grandchildren a life of Okie-hooded meth exposure (which was probably a moot point once her daughter hooked up with that k-Fed guy [at which pint the Louisiana/California ditch-bank Okie genes would have been tough to downright impossible to overcome] and they started popping out babies at a rate only true white trash can achieve and naming them shit like Sean Preston)., but that;s a story for another tabloid edition.

    Speaking of mothers who are criminals, how can my own mother continue to force on me that purple sludge cough syrup even single time I come down with croup. {Public service announcement: adolescents and even adults can contract croup.} Before, it was a legal position that allowed her to force the toxic potion in me against my will. Now it;s merely a size/strength ratio, that gives her the brute force advantage possible to spoon into my mouth stuff , that, if left lying around in enough places, or smeared on enough afflicted children;s heads, would probably kill all the cockroaches and headlice in the world.. That’s just how toxic is the substance my mother forces into me. My Mother is trying to KILL me!

  8. The previous post, attributed to Kristen, must have been miscredited when my friend used my laptop and neglected to clear her info. The previous post was actually authored by your niece, Alexis.

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