God, grant my doctor the wisdom to up my medicine and refill my prescription

This hasn’t JUST started happening…I have felt for a while that sometimes I find myself in situations befitting the Twilight Zone series. Tonight was one of those nights…

My mom and I had been invited to attend a little show tonight at the Country Club. There were a few vendors there and it would give us some ideas for Christmas…so we decided to go. We got there and had fun chit-chatting with Katie, Mrs. Char, and Mrs. Tracey. After discussing Pampered Chef with Katie, my mama honed in on the Stampin’ Up table (of course!). She was busy making a lady bug candy bag, while I looked through Mrs. Char’s Christmas cards. I made the comment “See, Mama, I should just pay Mrs. Char to make my Christmas cards for me.” Mrs. Char laughed and I explained that I had gotten Mama to make my cards last year, because the year before, when I had made them myself, I heard some comments from Mama. Comments like: “Oooh, Aleta, I wouldn’t have used those colors together.” “Aleta, I would’ve done those differently.” What can I say, I don’t have the eye and it is SO hard to live up to the awesomely creative crafter that IS my mama. So, we laugh about it now. I just say “I can’t do anything to please her when it comes to making cards,” and laugh it off. It is a joke between us. Now, I told you that to tell you this…

After making my comment about having Mrs. Char make my cards because my mama hassles me, I had this very strange lady approach me. I hope to goodness she never reads this blog, and I hope I don’t offend anyone that may know her, but by George I think she must’ve smoked quite a bit of pot in her day. (know this—this was a very one-sided conversation, seeing as how I couldn’t get a word in edgewise; half the time I didn’t know what to say, and it was hard to say anything when she started laughing like Fran the Nanny…I just stood in amazement).

She says to me, “Honey, I had the same type relationship with my mama. She was never satisfied with what I did. Heck, even when I was little, she would stop me in my sewing projects and say ‘just let me do it, you’re going too slow.’ Here’s what I think, you’re a cold color person, aren’t you? (I’m baffled at what she’s even talking about) You like bluish reds, right? (I guess???) I bet your mother is a warm colored person; she likes orangish-reds. (Ok, and the point is??) That is why you clash. I used to do color analysis on people. I just know these things. (Ahhh….so you’re a fruit loop). –Might I add here that I have a wonderful relationship with my mama—“That is why y’all don’t get along.” Haaaaaaaaaaaaa (nasaly as Fran). “See, at 49, I told my mama ‘The reason we never got along is because you always wanted a perfect child. How could you make a perfect child? You and dad were stubborn people. You couldn’t have a PERFECT child. But see, she’s always favored my middle sister. Hello! They didn’t hold her to the same standards they held me to. And that is why we always clashed. Once she realized that that was what her problem was, she really didn’t have much time to work on it, though. She died a short time after that.” (WTH?) –And I will add here that I have no idea in H how this conversation steered in this direction—

“I used to be not only a one-ton Sue. But a two-ton Sue. I’ve always had a weight issue (should I begin to get offended here??...yes, I think so). Here’s where the issue with my weight happened at… My family used to own a grocery store. And every Sunday, we would go over to my Grandma’s for lunch. She was one of those old-time cooks. She would make not only one meat, but she would make like chicken, pork, AND beef. And she would get offended when you didn’t try a little of everything. I would go ‘ugggggghhhh, I’m stuffed, Grandma.’ Literally, we would be SOOO full and she would say ‘I don’t know why y’all think you have a problem with weight.’” HAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

“Now I really miss them though. I would take them back with all their problems if I could.”

By the time the conversation had come to a close, my eyes were literally bugging out of my head.

I swear, as soon as she latched onto someone else, I decided to run. I did feel sorry for the lady who’d just earned herself a parasite, but hey, I had to save myself, right?

What. The. Heck??????? Again I say, I am a nut-magnet! And why, oh why, do people think I care? Is my psychology degree written somewhere on me, only visible to crazy people? I just don’t understand!!!