Yesterday, I had the delight of being forced into a Ladies of Leisure outing with my mother and Aunt Jodie. These outings are common and usually quite enjoyable. My mother loves about five things unconditionally: sushi, horror movies, Ronald Reagan, Chardonnay, and her American Express. When she can intersect at least three of these things in one day she really loses her shit.
She proposed the three of us go for a nice sushi lunch and then go to see a movie. Uni on someone else’s dime can pretty much guarantee my presence to anything. “Jackie, want to come to my anal bleaching appointment and then to put my dog down? I’ll take you to Matsuhisa after.” “Sounds like a blast, I am there!”
It was only after my mother baited me with overpriced yellowtail that she broke the news that her movie selection was fucking Annabelle. OH HELL NO BITCH. I am scared of EVERYTHING. As a child I was terrified of Bert & Ernie from Sesame Street for fuck’s sake – I thought they seemed sketchy and rapey. Once I matriculated to elementary school I developed a fear of invisible whales and would drop turkey in the pool to see if it disappeared – Free Willy really fucked my ass up.
I refuse to go to haunted houses, hope all black cats go extinct, and contribute 40% of my religious beliefs in Judaism to the fact that NO WEIRD SHIT GOES DOWN AT A SYNAGOGUE. Think about it… most horror films have something to do with a church, a priest and the Devil. No one ever started levitating at a Shabbat Dinner over kosher wine and Bubby’s brisket. Just saying…
Anyways, nothing about my spirit bode well with seeing an ACTUAL horror film. My mother ordered me hot sake and told me she would get me some popcorn, Raisinettes and a random Neiman Marcus gift card she found in her car.
Further catapulting this already frightening situation…. My mother thought it would be hilarious to bring this Halloween prop in her purse to bust out in the middle of the movie.
WHAT KIND OF SICK BITCH WOULD DO THIS TO HER OWN FLESH AND BLOOD?
Midway through the movie, I had lost six pounds, was covering my eyes and plugging my ears while simultaneously bobbing my head blindly into a bucket of popcorn. I kept looking over at my mother and mouthing “I HATE YOU.” My real life Mommy Dearest was clearly enjoying my despair and decided during the height of the movie to bust out her little prop. She slyly wrapped her arm around me from behind and casually rested the prosthetic limb gently on my shoulder. I looked and immediately shot up from my seat screaming “WHAT THE FUCK!”
The only thing that kept me from going into full cardiac arrest was the fact that the hand seemed partially African-American and I down with the swirl. My mother was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. This incident has caused quite a strain in our relationship and I still have not recovered. I can’t sleep, refuse to forgive my mother and will never go within 5 miles of an American Girl Doll store. However, if there is a one-armed Milano dreamboat out in the world, hit a bitch up.