I love my mother. Really, she's a generous and loving person who wants nothing but the best for all her friends and family.

With that disclaimer given, perhaps I can now move to the business of slagging her off. Because I've gotten to know how that generous and loving mind of hers works, how sometimes it cuts a few corners to get where it wants to go. Case in point, the night she introduced me to Thomas Harris, bestselling author of Silence of the Lambs fame.

I was home from Madrid, where I was teaching English my first year after college. Mom had recently remarried, and along with the acquisition of her wonderful new husband, had also acquired the acquaintance of his wonderful bohemian friends. Seeking my shared enthusiasm for her new family (said enthusiasm that I do share, enthusiastically at that), she begged that I tag along to an annual December 26th Margarita party hosted by my stepdad's  artsy friends.

So to translate mom's motivation & though process at this point:

I want Moses to like my new husband and his friends. They are kind of artsy and eccentric. I'm pretty sure Moses likes reading, going to concerts, and taking drugs. I hope he isn't taking too much drugs since he graduated from school. Still, he'll like these artsy people. I better convince him to come to the party.

Convince me she did. And the party was ok. As expected, it was awkward to maneuver around a crowded party where the only person I knew was my mother and the sugary margaritas made me thirsty. But all in all not so bad. And to give my mother her do, the people were pretty bohemian.

After awhile I tired of going through the motions of introductions and sat next to a seemingly deaf old man to scarf some hummus and carrots and drink a Corona I'd convinced the help in the kitchen to sneak me. I was chilling,  just people watching and pretending to talk to this almost dead guy whenever I got too self-conscious about sitting by myself.

Of course my moms saw me eating with the old man and came to get me. She looked really excited. Mom told me that a famous author was here, the guy who'd written the Silence of the Lambs. I said cool. She said she just had to introduce me. She grabbed me by the arm and drug me halfway across these bohemians' backyard to find a middle aged man with a whitish grey beard and tiny frameless glasses.

I should mention at this point that I've never read any of the man's books or seen any of the movies. I'm vaguely aware that Silence is a horror movie with cannibalism involved. Oh, and I know that in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective the line "cozy, if you're Hanibal Lecter" is a Silence of the Lambs reference.

I mention this not to slag him off, or act too good for horror novels. The shit is critically acclaimed. DFW even put two of Harris' books in his top ten. It's just the truth, in contrast to my mom's thought process at the time:

This guy's a famous writer. Moses likes to write! And read. I'll bet he will be very excited to meet this famous writer. I'll bet if this guys famous then Moses has probably heard of him and likes his books. Plus I saw that movie and it was weird. Moses likes weird stuff. This is probably Moe's favorite author. I'm so excited to get to introduce him.

So there I was facing Thomas Harris with my mother holding my by the elbow. She introduced us and told him that I was a huge fan of his. She said that I'd read all his books. And seen all the films. Then she walked away.

For a few seconds neither of us said anything. It was terribly awkward. I racked my mind for a decent conversational tidbit.

Silence.

Of the lambs.

"So," I asked. "You like animals?"