We were in Fargo to visit last weekend.  Mom had been feeling really good that week and had a lot of visitors.  The day before we arrived she started feeling lousy again but I wouldn’t have guessed it had she not spent most of Friday night puking up a lung.  I wished I could do something for her but the best thing I could do was to run and hide so I didn’t join in on the puke fest.  There’s a good reason why I’m not a nurse or other hands-on care provider.  I can’t handle bodily functions very well.   Neither can Mom.  It’s a genetic thing, I assume.

On Saturday, she was still feeling bum but was a real trooper.  As we sat together out on the porch conducting our nightly covert operations of spying on neighbors and any other passers-by, we were talking about a book I was reading and was going to leave for her and Mike. 

Then our conversation grew more interesting…

She asked me if I’d seen the David Beckham underwear ad.  I hadn’t.  She proceeded to comment on how “manly” (my choice of words) he was.  I was speechless.  This is not a conversation my mother and I would typically  have but it was sure hilarious to discuss this with her.  We pondered what the objects used to stuff the briefs may have been. 

Your guess is probably as good as ours.

As