White Trash Day
My mother, sister and youngest brother picked me up to go to the Salvation Army. As we were driving, my sister asked me if I would be willing to look over her English paper due this Friday. Her thesis is that a protagonist does not necessarily have to be physically strong to be a hero. She then rattled off a list of possible protagonists: Ralph from Lord of the Flies, Hamlet, etc.
My mother interjected: "Hamlet's gay!"
Me: "How do you know Hamlet is gay?"
Mom: "He never married, did he?"
Me: "You know, there are different theories about why he didn't marry. It doesn't make him-"
Mom: "Kim, Hamlet's gay!"
I decided not to bother. She can believe whatever the hell she wants about Hamlet. It's not like she'll publish a scholarly article on it or anything.
The Salvation Army was a somewhat agonizing experience. My idea of shopping at the SA and my mom's idea are completely different. For example, I browse quickly at clothes in my size and at the purses, and then get the hell out. My mom must pick through everything and closely examine it, even stuff she wouldn't remotely use. After I was done picking through t-shirts, I caught up with her at the furniture. She looked disgusted. "Who the hell would pay $1000 for a table from the Salvation Army?," she asked me, shaking her head at a patio set. "It's a shame."
