POOR MOM

  One of my favorite moments on any Friday Night takes place Saturday morning.

  With the boozing and carousing part of the evening over, we find ourselves back at Tony’s house, in the kitchen we both grew up in.  The familiarity of the kitchen cupboards and counter tops is welcoming.  A quick flick of the switch and the smell of coffee fills the room (Tony’s wife Beth handles the filling of water and grounds before we even arrive, bless her heart).

   As anyone who has ever boozed and stayed out late knows, preparing something to eat to go with the coffee is also essential.  Again, this is where Beth comes into play.  Aside from readying the coffee, Beth also hides most of the munchies before our arrival.  She will leave a couple of slices of leftover pizza and my precious jelly candies in plain sight.  Chips, lunch meat, pastries and other items deemed too irresistible are stowed away.  Only Beth and God know where.

   While the coffee brews, Tony and I repair to the family room with a slice of microwaved pizza.  I have occasionally passed on the pizza (I am not as bagged as Tony and can still realize that a wad of cheese at 2:30 am is a bad idea).  Every time I pass, it pisses Anthony off.  He has been known to cut off chunks of his pie, spear it with a sharp knife and wave it in my face.  I usually give in, my love of pizza and fear of losing a nostril ruling the moment.

   We always watch television while we eat.  Sports Center on occasion.  DVR episodes of Saturday Night Live here and there.  But what we really enjoy are HBO soft core porn movies.  Not the Real Sex series (Tonight on Real Sex, nude poetry readings, liquid latex parties and a visit with a plus size dominatrix). No, we prefer soft core porn.  Tits, ass, grunting, moaning but no erections and cum shots.  You know, classy.

   Naturally, we like checking out the broads.  But we really enjoy chirping about the movies themselves.

“I hate those big round fake jugs.”

“There is no way you could put it in so easy in that position.”

“It’s too well lit for that.”

“Why is she moaning during tit banging?”

“Look at the goofy look on his face.”

“That guy looks like Monty Hall.”

“I’d be done already.”

   Last week, Tony and I were enjoying Bikini Girls From The Lost Planet while burning the roofs of our mouths on pizza.  From the doorway behind us we heard , “When did you boys get in?”

   We both turned around to see our dear Mother standing bleary eyed fifteen feet from the simulated banging and moaning.  The shock of getting caught caused Tony to drop the remote, spilling the batteries and battery cover onto the floor.  He scrambled to get the remote back together while I kept our Mom occupied with small talk.

“Jack’s got a tennis tournament tomorrow.”

“Oh God yeah...Oh God yeah”

“He’s been playing really well this year, undefeated so far.”

“Bring that big ass here.”

   I kept one eye on Tony.  He was making zero progress.  I had no idea there were so many possible incorrect combinations for two batteries and a back cover.   Just when I thought I would have to stage a pretend heart attack to divert my Mom’s attention, the couple on the screen fake came and the silliness of a porn plot took over.

   With the crisis averted and our dear Mother back asleep, Tony concocted a flavored coffee for my short trip home to Allen Park.  I called him to let him know I was home safe, he woke my Mom briefly to tell her that I got home safe and the countdown to next Friday began.

Cheers! Jim