Memory No. 2
This one takes place a little over a year ago. It is Monday February 10, 2008 . The reason why I know this is because the next day I left for Nashville driving a rental car after it is snowed and then iced. The ice was so thick, that when I got home from the gym that morning, I had trouble making it up our gently (and I say gently because it is virtually flat) sloping drive way without backing up and getting a “running” start. Also, the snow was thick enough that the car didn't even dent it or cause it to crack. Yikes.
Anyway, Monday Feb. 10, 2008 , my mother made toast.
On Tuesday, February 11, 2008, the toaster was still out while I loaded the rental car for Nashville and prayed that the roads wouldn’t be that bad and the traffic would have some sense (they were and they didn’t).
I returned home on Friday, February 14, 2008 . The toaster is still out! My mom has been home by herself for an entire week and has left the damn toaster out. Honestly, I shouldn’t be shocked. My mother doesn’t believe in picking up after herself, that’s why she has servants – I mean children. But I watched and waited and even scraped her bread crumbs into the sink and washed them down the drain. However, I was not going to put that damn toaster up.
A week goes by and the toaster is still sitting out on the counter taking up space.
Two weeks. Three weeks. An entire month has passed. My mother has not made toast since Feb. 10, it is now March and still the toaster sits out.
I was furious. Did she really think I would put it away? I haven’t used that toaster since I quit working at the bank and had easy access to the organic market and the five-grain organic wheat toaster waffles I used to eat. If I had to put it away, it was becoming another man’s treasure.
But I knew that would piss her off and cause me to have to buy a new toaster. So, like a mature, degree-holding, employed adult, I put the toaster under her bed.
March turned into April, then turned into May. No one knew of my nefarious plan. Not my brother, my dad, or my sister who was on a “sabbatical” in Florida living with her boyfriend during these past few months.
Finally, one June day, my mother was in the kitchen making noise, messing up the cabinets I take great pains to keep tidy (she is not allowed to empty the dishwasher because she throws things on top of each other and I have to go behind her redoing everything).
“Where is my toaster?” she asks.
I say nothing. Andrea’s completely confused and tells mom she doesn’t know.
“It’s been missing since the end of April,” she says. Technically the end of March, but apparently it took another month for her to get her “toast” fix. She looks right at me. I shrug my shoulders. “You probably threw it away,” she says.
I look right at her knowing she can tell exactly when I’m going to lie and say “I can honestly tell you that I did not throw your ridiculous toaster away,” with as much pomp and arrogance as I can muster.
She studies me but decides I am not lying. And I’m not. I didn’t throw her toaster away, I simply moved it. “Well,” she says.
“What did you do with it the last time you used it,” I say sweetly. I know, I am Daughter of the Year.
She swishes her mouth around as if she wants to say something, but really she is in the wrong here. Plus, she can’t prove that I did anything with the toaster. Maybe she should’ve put it away.
Fast forward to September.
Mom is in her room cleaning because she wants to put the house on the market. Apparently there was a lot of junk under her bed and she was cleaning all that out when I receive a call at work.
“I found my toaster.”
“Oh, really? Where?” I asking feigning ignorance. I feign so well over the phone when my face can’t give me away to her.
“You know damn well where.”
“I do…hmm,” I say still acting clueless.
“Under my bed, Erin Nicole! Where I’m sure you put it.”
“Me? Why would I put the toaster under your bed. It belongs in the appliance cabinet.”
“Well, it was just you and me in the house at the time and I didn’t put the toaster under my bed.”
“That’s right,” I say in my sickeningly sweet voice, “You didn’t put it up at all.” I know, I know, I am really asking for it, but I can tell my mother is more amused than pissed and I can get away with this right now.
“I just can’t believe you,” she says and hangs up.
I smile, pick up my cell phone and text Andrea (who has now heard the entire story): Mom found the toaster.
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