“What’s the fundamental difference between my mother and yours?”

“Humph. Loaded question,” he says.

“Seriously… What is it?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs his shoulders.

“The fundamental difference between our mothers is that my mother knows that the voices in her head are a byproduct of an overactive imagination and a misspent youth… Your mother just thinks Jesus is calling. ”

Peter was in town this past weekend (For those of you not knee-deep in the quagmire that is my life right now, Peter accepted a job back in our hometown in Louisiana a couple of months ago and has been living and working there in the meantime while me and the brood are still here in Alabama awaiting the end of the school year.) accompanied by what can only be described as the verbal equivalent of a powerpoint presentation on the potential benefits and possible gains of living with Satan until such a time that a new house can be found.

When asked why in all that is holy I should live with his mother (even if she does give me leave to buy whatever I want), he pulled out what must be the trump card hidden away in the sleeve of all grownass men still tugging about on the umbilical cord:

Just think of all of the money that we can save.

[And now, ladies and gentlemen,please turn to page 125 in your hymnals and join the Shakespeare Choir in singing the age-old classic, What the Fuck You Talkin' About, Willis?]

The man actually wants “us” to live with his mother.

He wants me to live with his mother.

Live.With.His.Mother.

Yeah… that chill running up the back of your neck right now?

Comes hand-in-hand with Bible-Carrying-Mother-in-Law Satan.

The same Bible-Carrying-Mother-in-Law Satan who once explained to me that should her son ever cheat on me, I was to forgive and forget because “those little girls just throw themselves at him, and he can’t be expected to be perfect.”

[Can I get a *bullshit cough* from the congregation, please?]

He left yesterday to get back to Louisiana, work, and the bossom of his youth.

I googled divorce attorneys.

Who, by the way, are much cheaper in Alabama than Louisiana.

And just think of all the money that we can save.

Of course…

I could just ignore her and suck it up for a bit until something affordable comes along…

“What’s the fundamental difference between you and me?”

“A vagina,” he says.

“Besides that…”

“I dunno,” he shrugs his shoulders.

“The fundamental difference between you and me is that when I finally snap and serve you up a big helping of  my special “fresh out of the car trunk” potato salad, I’m smart enough to get away with it. And you? Well… you’ll just think that Jesus is calling.”