Well, hello there!

Yesterday I was summoned to Mom’s house by Marilyn, her weekend gal, because the bulb in the powder room off the kitchen blew out. It’s one of the long skinny tube guys which meant a trip to the hardware store on a Sunday.

Mom: Ask Dan to do it.

Me: I am perfectly capable of removing the bulb and driving to Cornell’s True Value to buy a replacement. I don’t need my husband to do it.

Mom: You aren’t tall enough to get the bulb down.

Me: Mom, I AM tall enough.

Mom: Well this is where we differ.  If I have an opportunity to have a man involved, I am taking that opportunity. I will even pretend I am helpless if it means a man will arrive on the scene.

Me: Wow. That is something. I guess when my female phone number was dialed for this job it was a mistake.

Marilyn: Men are wonderful.

Mom: I like men the best.

Me: I can hear you.  I am in the room.

Marilyn: Especially when they are handsome.

Mom: Oh I don’t care about handsome, a man is a man.

Mom is well known by the fire department, the police department, the hospital, ConEd, Terminix, the gardeners (especially Jon), the doctors (all of them) as a charmer. The list is much longer, but I know you have other things to do today.

It’s extraordinary. What’s even more extraordinary is my mom didn’t become a dating machine when my dad died in 1998.  She was only 72 and quite fetching (still is apparently). She allowed her accountant to take her to dinner shortly after my dad’s death, but when he went for her lips at the end of the night (gross) she recoiled and said to me later:

Mom: I am not going to be a nurse or a purse for the next guy.  No thanks.

That took care of dating and Irv the accountant.

Mom pretends she is not a flirt with men.  I proceed to act out several of my favorite “Mom the Coquette” stories for her and Marilyn while Mom feigns innocence while giggling hysterically.

Story One:

Five years ago, when Mom was still fully living on her own without help, I get a call early one morning while I am out at our house on Long Island.

Mom: I woke up and can’t move. I think it’s my back. Seriously I can’t get out of my bed. I blame those terrible seats at the Metropolitan Opera House.

Me: I’m on my way. Do not attempt to get up. I will be there in 90 minutes.

Mom: I am not going to attempt to get up because I CAN’T GET UP.

Me: Easy killer.

Mom is 90 years old at this point. Dr. Chow told me I have to call 911 when I get to her house and under NO circumstances attempt to get mom down the stairs myself.  Of course that is exactly what I want to do. This wouldn’t be the first time the fire department had been called to her house and it wouldn’t be the last. I knew there would be drama.

After I arrive, I laid down on her bed and waited for the big guns to show up. Mom was writhing in pain. Almost in tears. The worst pain she has ever felt, she said. “Make it stop” she yelled. This was serious. We heard the sirens.

When I answered her front door there were two police officers, six firemen, and two EMTs standing on the walkway. Some of them I recognized from the last time. They were all handsome. Uh-oh.

Me: Follow me.

Up to Mom’s boudoir we all marched.

I will repeat, when I left mom to let in the emergency team, she was writhing in pain.

The guys poured into Mom’s room and gathered around her bed.  If there had been two more of them, making it 12, I could have easily shot and sold 1.5 million “Hottest First Responder” calendars.

Mom’s head popped up. Her face lit up. Pain? What pain?

Mom: Well…hello there! And what do I have the pleasure of your company? Look at all of you!

Are you kidding me?

Fireman 1: Ma’am, what is the problem.

Me: (under my breath) Lots of problems here.

Mom: What do you ever mean?

Me: Oh for the love…She has done something to her back, her doc said I needed to call you guys and have her taken to the hospital. Believe me, if I could have done it myself I would have.

My mother was literally beaming at these gentlemen in uniform.  I had no doubt she was in pain and couldn’t move, but clearly attractive men was her morphine.  Did I mention she was 90 when this scene occurred?

Once outside, we saw her fear stricken neighbors had gathered. All of them visibly concerned until they saw Mom being wheeled towards them by Brad Pitt Jr, waving her hand like Queen Elizabeth, smiling like it was her birthday and the gang on the street were her party guests.

Mom: Hi everyone!

Me: Mom, come on. At least pretend.

Story Two:

Sometime last year, I spied a town police officer in a no parking zone on the main drag, his cruiser parallel to the bookstore, engine running.  I couldn’t resist approaching to find out what he was up to.  I had a feeling he was waiting for the number one offense in my lay cop citation handbook to happen (please read blog post “You have been served” if you are thinking what the hell am I talking about? You may say that anyway).

Me: Hi officer! Please tell me you are here to nail drivers crossing the double yellow (police talk) so they can ILLEGALLY pull into an empty parking space on the opposite side of the street.

PO: That’s exactly what I am doing.

Me: Bravo! How many have you racked up?

PO: Six so far.

Me: That’s wonderful! If only I could join you in that pursuit.

I know he must be thinking, move along weirdo. I am old enough to be his mother, so he is being very respectful.

Me: Listen, I want to thank you for all you and your fellow officers do in town to keep it safe.  My 95 year old mom is still here, living in the house I grew up in. I can sleep at night knowing you are on the beat, not that we are living in crime central, but still.

PO: Which house does she live in?

I give him her address.

PO: Oh, I know your mom.  I was just there.

Me: Excuse me?

This very young cop was also very good looking.  I should have known Mom would be aware of him, although it was news to me.

PO: She has an Irish girl living with her at night, on the weekends, right?

Me: Yes.

Uh-oh

PO: Apparently the Life Alert went off and the service people couldn’t reach anyone on the emergency contact list so we were called in.

What else goes on at Mom’s that I’m unaware of? Are they having parties? Do I not make the guest list?

Me: I had no idea and I am first on the list.

PO: We were all there. Police, fire, EMT.

So it WAS a party I wasn’t invited to.  I wonder if Mom made Felicia offer them all champagne.  I was afraid to ask.

PO: Your mom is quite the charmer.  She kept telling me how handsome she thought I am. She also tried to get me to pull up a chair and watch The Monkeys of Madagascar with her, although she did say she was getting pretty tired of watching them hop from tree to tree.

Me: I am so sorry about all that.

PO: Don’t be. We had a great time.  It was a slow night. She invited us back any time.

Of course she did.

Story Three:

Last September our local hospital hosted a health and wellness fair on the front lawn of the high school. Mom wanted to go.  I wheeled her over. It’s like pushing a combo mayor, screen star, and Mother Teresa down the sidewalk in a throne on wheels. Everyone wants to chat with her. Including a police officer I didn’t recognize.

Mom: Hi there! Good to see you again. It’s been a long time!

PO: Yes. It has.

Mom: I am in a wheelchair now as you can see.

Is this an old boyfriend I never knew about?  Is my mother a cougar? This guy looks like he is my age.

Me: How do you two know each other? I’m her daughter.

Mom: Oh I told you about him.

Me: Nope. I don’t think you did.

Mom: It was years ago. When I had my legs and I didn’t need people watching me like a hawk.  The smoke detector went off. I couldn’t get that loud screech to stop.  It was horrible! There was no smoke,  that wasn’t the issue. I called the police. I couldn’t reach you.

Hmm, couldn’t reach me? Or didn’t want to reach me?

Me: Mom why didn’t you try a neighbor? The police have better things to do.

PO: Oh no worries, we had a great time.

What does that mean?

Mom: He was so sweet. John? Correct?

PO: Correct.  Good memory.

Mom: I never forget a handsome face.

Classic.

Mom: John came over in his police car.  He took the yelling smoke detector right off the wall like it was a piece of paper. He told me new batteries are what the little monster needed. So I gave him 20 bucks and he went up to Value Drugs and bought me some.  He walked up! Left his car in my driveway.  I’m sure THAT got the neighbors talking.

Me: John you are a saint. That is above and beyond.

PO: My pleasure. Your mom is a doll.

All I could do was shake my head. I guarantee no one else in Mom’s village has been able to persuade a police officer to walk into town and shop for them. Unbelievable. But believable.