The following is a revised reprint of a post published in June, 2007. The people mentioned still exist, and "Zimmerman's" friend is still pilfering food from my kitchen on a regular basis. Last night, I caught him carelessly removing the lid of an authentic antique apothecary jar in which I had placed antique salt water taffy (for decorative purposes only). "Be careful," I said, of course through clenched teeth, "that jar is about 100 years old." He chortled. "I'm serious," I repeated, and stormed out of the room. Well, at least he doesn't call me "Vic" anymore (that's a horse of an entirely different color, which I'll discuss in a future blog). Meanwhile - here's the revived post from 2007:
When Life Gives You Mangos, Make Margaritas
My son Zimmerman’s friend Nico (who Zim and his other friends have aptly labled a “freeloader”) was at our house one afternoon and, inter alia, after rifling through the refrigerator, helped himself to a mango that was ripening in the center of the kitchen table (where it was placed, with other fruit, with careful attention to the feng shui of abundance). I didn’t notice that the mango was missing until I found a knife on the middle of the desk in our home office, and when I questioned Zim, he said that Nico needed it since our peeler didn’t work all that well. Long story short – the kid stole my mango and left the peels to rot in the upstairs garbage can, unnoticed until the next day when the stench became unbearable and Coprock was left with the task of cleaning it up (and spraying the area with Lysol).
I wasn’t too happy about the incident, and I had a neo-Joan Crawford explosion – after which I said something like “I’m not yelling at you, Zim...I’m yelling at the (expletives deleted) MANGO PEEL”
After that, I thought I must be the worst mother in the world. However, thankfully, one of my friends (who asked me to omit her name since even her a/k/a is now recognizable) might have topped me. Anon Mom is a single mother whose Anon Ex contributes little or nothing to Anon Son’s life, financially, emotionally or in any way. Here is her story, in her words, about a conversation that took place between her and her son on Father’s Day:
Anon Mom: Call uncle Mike and wish him a happy father's day.
Anon Son: Why? He's not my father.
Anon Mom: He's more of a father figure to you then your own father is.
Anon Son: Yeah, but he didn't do you.
Anon Mom: If you had to call everyone that did me, you would be here all day.
Anon Son: Nice Mom
There's so many things wrong that conversation that I don't know where to begin.
On days like those described above, a Mango Margarita might help. Here's a great recipe:
To Make Mango Margaritas
Puree 1 1/4 pounds fresh mangoes, 1 cup water, 1/2 cup sugar;
Put in a blender with 3 cups ice, 3 oz. Triple sec, 6 oz. Tequila or
6 oz. Rum – blend until smooth – drink until you can no longer stand upright. Oh - and garnish with something. Mint would be nice. As long as it's not IN the drink, no one will confuse it with a Mojito. But if they do, who cares? You'll be too inebriated to notice.
Comments