February 12th, 2009

me

Jim Hines is a class act. Bonus: conversations with my mother.

So jimhines has proven himself to be a class act. How? By sending a copy of The Stepsister Scheme to my mother, that's how. An autographed copy, no less. Since I'm not always sure my mother believes that authors actually exist -- the whole publishing process is arcane to her, which is understandable, since it's arcane to me, too -- this was made of awesome and pie. AWESOME AND PIE.

(Mom: "Is this for me?"
Me: "It has your name in it."
Mom: "Is he mad at me?"
Me: "...logic fail, Mom.")

After giving her the book, we went to Target to pick up my prescriptions for the month. (Yes, I am a grown woman. No, I do not drive. Yes, this sometimes means I ask my mother to run errands with me. No, I don't think this is a problem. I pay for gas, and it gives us an excuse to hang out without needing to find an actual activity that we have in common. Beyond playing with/tormenting the cats, flea markets, and going to Target, we mostly avoid that sort of thing.) As we waited, she asked me where I'd come up with some of the words on my new album.

"Like what?" I asked, all innocence.

"Epidemiolo-whatzit," she said.

Cue my mother getting a fifteen minute class on epidemiology while standing in the pharmacy aisle at the Target. Many people turned faintly green. Somehow, this turned into a vigorous explanation of recessive genes, why white cats are deaf, and why male pattern baldness passes through the female line. More people turned faintly green.

My mother's final verdict:

"I have no idea how I made you."

Neither does anybody else, Mom. Neither does anybody else.