I'm good to my mom, I take her to dinner. Two-three times a year. She likes Chinese. We have a place we go.
OK, it's slightly less sometimes, being honest. Time flies, et cetera. And she's old. Ma or not, she doesn't have much going on. Cries, say(more)s she misses me. Acts so happy just to eat. It gets depressing, to tell you the truth.
Today I figure it's been closer to 9 months since I've even thought of her, never mind seen her. That's bad, even for me. So I motivate myself by picturing how one day she'll be found dead in her apartment and how crappy that'll make me feel. Remembering I could've made her happy by taking her to a cat-serving Chinese shithole on this random autumn afternoon. Thanks for the advance guilt, mom.
She likes to eat super-early so at least I can get my duty done & my evening's still open.
She always insists the Golden Rooster is good, cheaper than groceries. It's my pet-peeve she never buys decent groceries, never has any food. I always have to explain to her she needs to eat better, money or not.
She orders the same shit as always. Sweet-n-sour pork. Red blobs that stain the Uncle Ben's. I pick at my kung pao chicken. I don't eat pork so I refuse to trade bites when she asks. I keep having to tell her to close her yap when she's chewing. My ma thinks asking a barrage of questions makes it a conversation.
These meals make me feel suffocated. Like I need extra oxygen just to see her, and sometimes in between visits it takes a long time to catch my breath.
Our waitress looks like she's gained weight but says no when I ask her.(less)