My Momma Can Throw Insults Better Than Your Momma

Well, folks - it’s time for another edition of The Mommy Diaries. Since my mom is no longer with us and she was such a hoot, I decided to share some of her crazy stories with you, my readers.


If you haven’t read the one about my mom jumping off a bridge, then check this one out.


My mom had a childhood friend named Margaret Ann. These two were always getting into trouble together. Getting into trouble tends to be a recurring theme in my mom’s life, in case you haven‘t noticed. You would think she would have grown out of that after high school, right?


Ehhhh, not so much.


They were in their early twenties when Margaret Ann had a little lunch party at her house with my mom and a lady we will call Jean for the purposes of this story (mostly because I don’t remember her actual name, but Jean sounds about right).


My mom didn’t know Jean, but they were all getting along well, perhaps due to the bloody Marys they were drinking at lunch. They started talking about old boyfriends and dates from high school, when my mom piped up with, “Oh my Gawd, Margaret Ann! Do you remember that guy, Marty, that you fixed me up with in high school? The one with the greasy-ass hair?”


Margaret Ann kicked my mom under the table.


My mom didn’t notice, and continued, “I’m still mad at you for that one! Good Lord, if he had one more pimple, he would have had to hold it in his hand. I was scared to touch him!”


Margaret Ann kicked her again, this time a little harder.


Mom apologized for bumping into her leg and proceeded to bash good old Marty: “You remember I had to hide out in the bathroom the entire night just to avoid his breath. Oh, girl! It smelled like he chewed on the ass end of a goat!”


Margaret Ann kicked the holy shit out of my mom, and gave her the “STFU” look.


Of course, my dear mother was entrenched in her story by this time and remained oblivious to the look. She just scooted her chair away from Margaret Ann a bit and continued to regale them with the faults of Marty. “He was so damned bucktoothed, he could eat corn-on-the-cob through a picket fence! I was afraid he was going to put my eye out. Ha ha ha ha.”


She didn’t notice that she was the only one laughing.


Finally, Jean stood up and haughtily announced, “Marty is my brother.”

Artist's rendition of The Marty.

{cricket, cricket, cricket} 


Mom: “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with a nicer personality than that sweet Marty! How is he doing?” [feeble smile]


At this point, Jean stormed out, mumbling something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like, “Bitch.”


Boy, my mom could really liven up a party!