Musings —11.15.2013 08:28 AM—
My Mom lives alone in Kingston. She is an artist, and she is very proper. I’ve never seen her in sweatpants, or go out in public looking even remotely informal. She goes to church on Sundays, she does charity work, and she dislikes boorish people. With the exception of Kinsella family full-contact Scrabble games – and after a glass of wine – my Mom doesn’t tolerate bad language, ever.
I call her every single day, sometimes twice a day. Yesterday afternoon, after the crackhead mayor of Canada’s largest city used some of the most disgusting language anyone has ever heard an elected official use, I called my Mom. Without pause, she commenced condemning the piece of human garbage who occupies the mayor’s chair. She said, inter alia, that he has embarrassed Canada around the world, that he should have been arrested by the police long ago, and that she fears for his children.
And then she said: “He’s just, just, a [expletive deleted] asshole.”
I was in shock. I could not believe my mother had said that. She was mad.
I told her I was astounded she had said such a thing.
“Well,” she said, “I mean it. Now, dear, you go and get him out of there, do you hear me? Do it what it takes.”
Told her I was on it. I’m a son who does what his mother tells him to do.