My age, that is. By she, I mean my mother. I'm slightly shocked considering how often she reminded me of how long she spend in labor with me before she got a c-section.
This afternoon I call her to check on her weekend plans. Figuring we could have lunch tomorrow and possibly she could bring me the toaster and microwave she promised. You see, when I moved from my house, I did not take the microwave because 1)Josh melted it with the waffle iron; 2)The new place had a microwave. But then I moved from the new place and this place did not come with a microwave. So I've lived without one since the end of February, it's not terrible, but life would be easier with a microwave. And I do love me some toaster strudel.
I find out she is busy and the remodeling hasn't gone as far as replacing the microwave so the conversation turns to her work. She worked with me in high school at the same grocery store and it has since closed, a few old coworkers now work with her at the hotel. I ask how they are doing and she says fine, that even the manager has noticed since this other woman left.
"What do you mean, she's noticed what?" I ask. Confused because I thought this manager was barely there.
"Well she gets a lot less phone calls since she's no longer working there. It's a lot easier now since someone else is doing the work. I thought the other girl was your age. Twenty-four. She's not! She's thirty or thirty-one. She just acted fifteen or sixteen." she pauses.
"Uh mom, I'm twenty-six."
"What? Wait, eighty-four..." she trails off and I hear my brothers laughter in the background. "Yeah, I guess you are! I remembered Dustin's birthday last week." (I didn't. Oops.)
"And how old is he?"
"Twenty-two." She sounds happy with this knowledge.
"I'm four years older than him, if I were twenty-four you'd have had three kids, three years in a row." She remembers his age but not mine?
"Well I can never remember your dad's age. If that means anything." She's aiming for consoling here.