Mother's Day Humor

My daughter is also a writer and also a blogger. I don’t read her blog because I don’t want to inhibit her in writing for the 20-something crowd. Think about it. When you were 20-something, would you have wanted your mother to read your letters? Alrighty then. But on Mother’s Day she specifically told me the blog was dedicated to me and sent me to read it. OK, really sweet pic of me and my daughter when she was a toddler. And lovely nice I love you words. Then she proceeds to relate several of the most embarrassing moments in my career as a klutz, including the time, apparently related to her by her father, when I got my foot tangled in my handbag strap and fell out of the car, then smacked my eye on the car door trying to straighten myself out. I wound up with a black eye on that one. My daughter loves to point out how uncoordinated I am, but she always overlooks her father’s foibles. Like the time he set his napkin on fire from a candle burning on the buffet table at a wedding reception. That stunt resulted in a slew of people doing a hat dance on the napkin to put out the flames. But does she write about Dad’s mishaps on the blog? Nope. I have to be the brunt of her humor. I guess it’s part of a long tradition of comediennes using their mothers as their best material. Oh well. As long as she keeps sending all that love my way while she’s laughing at me, I’ll survive. (And I confess I’m proud of her imaginative sense of humor, which keeps her readers laughing.)