So anyone who knows my mother knows that she gets . . . interesting after a certain point in the evening. You know how some cats, around midnight usually, just freak out and start chasing invisible things and run around for about 30 minutes? Well my mom does that, only it starts at around 9, and instead of chasing things she just flat out loses her mind. She laughs at everything and if you ask her why she’s laughing she just laughs harder until she starts crying and it just keeps going from there. If you dare raise an eyebrow at her, as if to say “What?” she will scream at you “Don’t look at me!!!” and then start laughing again and maybe run away.
This has a very specific name. C-time.
She doesn’t even have to be in person for this to happen. The 2 times now that I have moved out of town she will make a point to talk to me on the phone late at night so she can involve me in her C-time. She starts talking about the absolute weirdest stuff in the entire world, giggling throughout. This is just to set up a possibly new feature of this blog: Highlights of C-time.
Anyway. I was talking to her on the phone tonight. The conversation started out normally–we exchanged news, I told her about C’s new car, my classes, gossip. Typical. And then . . . this happened.
Mom: Do you remember that old ice bucket I bought years ago? It’s like silver with some swans on it?
M: Well, it’s all tarnished. Whatever. I want to do this and you’re not talking me out of it.
S: (getting worried) Um . . . what?
M: So I bought some fake chrysanthemums and I want to put them outside. In the ice bucket. But I’m going to paint the bucket. My question is, what color should I paint the bucket?
S: You know you’re actually causing an aneurysm right now, right? My brain is bleeding and it’s your fault.
M: Hush! Just tell me.
S: There are just so many things wrong with this. 1) You have an ice bucket, with swans on it, and you want to display this thing, outside, with flowers in it. Right?
S: Okay, oh my god. 2) You want to paint this thing. It’s bad enough that it is what it is, but you want to make it worse?
M: Um . . .
S: Why don’t you just use a clay pot?
M: I have a clay pot!
S: Then use that instead!
M: Well, it’s painted.
S: Uh-huh . . .
M: It’s like painted white, with some little doodles all over it. A cookie bouquet was delivered in it.
S: Oh my god. Please stop it.
M: Should I paint the pot? Like a metallic color?
S: You realize that clay is, in fact, not made of metal, right?
M: What is that supposed to mean?
S: I think you should throw out the fugly pot, buy a new clay pot, and let it be clay.
M: (laughing) Sharon! I just hurt my toe! (makes vague ouchy noises and continues laughing) Well then I’ll just paint the dishes I bought today!
S: What are you going to do with painted dishes?
M: It’s just one.
S: I’m sorry, a painted dish. Just the one.
M: Well I found it at the antique store and it’s just so ugly that I have to paint it.
S: Then why did you buy it?
M: Because I want to paint something!
Then she proceeded to tell me how she bought a print for her friend, B–, and brought it to her. But some of the edges were messed up, so she brought some paint over as well to fix the edges. And then she says:
M: You know, B– used to draw with paint.
S: You mean she painted?
M: No, I mean she made pictures with paint. Not just painting things.
M: Are you typing this? You’re typing this!! Okay, I’m going to stop talking now.
S: It honestly doesn’t matter, missy. I used to do transcription, you know.
And then she quickly got off the phone with me.
Now, look. I’m not trying to embarrass my mother all over the internet, but really? I’m expected to pass this up? I’ve had these conversations my entire life and I think it has a great deal to do with my personality and sense of reality. Because this evening was totally normal as far as I’m concerned. And I purposely call my mom late at night too, just so I can have some C-time. Because I miss it terribly. And I can’t wait until I visit in May to see it live. I should sell tickets. I could probably cover the gas home.