Seeing my mother in action is like watching a rerun of I Love Lucy after a few margaritas. She just does shit that makes you laugh without even trying. One of the things she insists on doing—religiously—is to walk around wearing the female equivalent to a man’s toupee. For whatever reason, my mother has been wearing hair hats for as long as I can remember, but every once it a while, they betray her. Recently, her eyes fell on a flaming red wig with spiked edges. I image you could achieve the same effect if you were to mesh Liza Minnelli’s short tresses together with Galina ‘Red’ Reznikov’s disheveled mess from Orange Is The New Black. It wasn’t exactly my taste, but my mother was seeing stars. She was certain that this new look was going to cast a bewitching spell over men that would cause her to become irresistible and, at seventy-four-years-old, my mother was eager for worship.
When she entered the store that afternoon, her confidence was through the roof. She knew she looked good because the reflective glass on the supermarket doorway said so, and because she was wearing her Galina ‘Red’ wig. As she perused the shelves in search of nothing particular, she noticed an attractive gentleman staring at her from across the room. Uncertain as to whether or not she was his focal point, she nonchalantly inspected the aisle and confirmed there was no one else around. “I still got it,” she thought to herself while gushing over his gallant appetite for lust, “I told them this wig was special!”
As she maneuvered her way around the produce department, caressing the fruits and vegetables and breathing in their delightful aroma, she had forgotten all about her mysterious friend; until she glanced up and saw him again. He was still there, ogling her with a beckoning steel-blue gaze. “Who was this man?” she wondered. “And why won’t he take his eyes off me?” Determined to confront her unshakable stalker, my mother began the lengthy journey toward the imported cheese section where he was standing. It was her belief that this bold move was going to force him to run for the hills—brokenhearted and terrified, but when their eyes locked one last time, halfway between the condiment section and health foods, there he stood; transfixed, like a deer in headlights. Only, this time, he confused her by waving.
What. The. Fuck.
One of my mother’s strengths is her ability to see the humanity in everyone, so she did what she thought was right: exposed her pearly whites and promptly waved back. She sauntered past the bakery with her eyes to the ground and eased her way over to a wheel of cheese right next to his brazen frame. “This is it,” she imagined, “it’s do or die.” And that’s when she met The Most Interesting Man In The World: a life-size, cardboard cut-out of the Dos Equis guy with a springboard arm inviting strangers to come on over and grab a chilled beverage to pair with an exquisite fromage.