I went shopping for a Mother's Day card this morning.  If it's the thought that counts, I'm not sure there's a card for it, really.  I mean, here's someone who lugged your ass around in her freakin belly for — well, in my case, ten months at which point I weighed eleven lbs — and then she squeezed your big fat freakin head through her VAGINA.  Is there a card for that? 

I mean, what do you say?   Respect.

Had I not overstayed my welcome I think things might have been different between my mother and me.  I mean, I still owe back rent.   

No, we're cool.  It's just that I can't do the treacly, sentimental cards.  That shit's for preemies.  I was a big, fat, bouncing baby boy.  And I just kept on bouncing.  Been bouncing ever since.  Even back in those days, before ADHD and all that jazz, I like to think I gave mom a good run for her money.


Fact is, my mother is a little suspicious of me in the first place, and if I sent her some froofy card, an obvious attempt to ingratiate myself to her or curry favor — mothers know — it just wouldn't fly.  

The "world's greatest mom" shtick won't work for me, either.  Because when you think about it, you know, every mom is somebody's World's Greatest Mom.  If you're really THE WORLD'S GREATEST MOM, a $3.50 card is sad recompense. 

And don't get me started on those coupons for free hugs.  When we tried that shit as kids she was like, "how about 'do your damn dishes' and 'don't pee on the toilet seat' coupons?"  Not big on the homemade coupons. 

One memorable Mothers Day she said all she wanted was for us not to interrupt her private screening of Body Heat.  I still don't get that. 

The weird, quasi-religious cards are also out.  Not that if I was another son it wouldn't work.  But even if I signed it, she would have trouble believing it was actually from me.  It would probably take her a while to figure it out, in fact.  "Mike?  Mike who?" And that defeats the purpose.  I mean, you want your mom to know it's from you, right?

So you know it's going to have to be a Peanuts card.  That's what's left for the rest of us. 

The one I ended up with said something like: "Mom, you take the cookies" on the front.  And on the inside: "It's like taking the cake, only better."  Makes no sense.  Perfect.

Because there's really not a card for it.