For my Mother...The NAG

My lord if that woman won't get off my behind! It's a good thing my backside has spread enough to accommodate my mother and her incessant nagging. She has been on me like a rat on a Cheeto to blog and I just can't take it anymore! Of course this is why she continues to "remind", for the rare moments when one of her children are actually nagged into submission. My brothers, having developed male-pattern deafness at a remarkably early age, are never at risk of caving to any requests, no matter how often repeated. My sister is lost in a cloud of teenage-dom that basically requires disobedience to any direct request. Leaving me, the farthest away and yet the only one who occasionally listens. One more instance of my overall perfection... but I digress.

So I know I'm neglecting y'all, and I'm real sorry but it simply can't be helped. Apparently when folks pay you to work for them, there is an expectation that you will use your hours of employ to accomplish tasks related to said folks. As the beginning of my auspicious career consisted mainly of finding ways to amuse myself on the Internet in between manicures, you can imagine the shock my system received when I realized I was runnin' the damn place and had a nigh-on a full day's work to do! Let me tell you, my fingernails are in a sad state and I fear my cuticles may never recover.

It's not that I don't think of you often. In fact, every morning on the subway I encounter some fashion tragedy, social retardation, or general stupidity and I think, "Queenie, you've got to post 'fore these fools get out of hand." And yet everyday between the subject of my disdain and power button of my computer lies a passel of problems so pressing I can't hardly check my horoscope before I gotta start savin' the world.

I do have lots to tell y'all and of course my list of complaints is miles long at this point- sufficed to say that no folks be actin right, including my damn dog who now sleeps with her head on the pillow between us like a full-out human. My hubby still puts the "sweet" in Sweetpotato, but lorda mercy if he can't find the laundry hamper with both hands and a flashlight! Someone has deemed the empire waist so last season I can't hardly find anything to cover my ass, and football has once again ruined my park-strolling plans for fall. It is a wonder I even get out of bed in the morning.

So here you are Mother.... 6 months to think and not a single nice thing to say. I might be worried about my psyche, if I could be bothered.