I've become fairly good at predicting how Mom Day is going to go by taking note of what wig my my mom is wearing. If she's wearing the kicky wig, she's going to be in a fine mood, but she will be getting lost. If she's in the flat wig, someone is going to get a beat down. It's the Rip Taylor wig that scares me. That's what she was wearing today.

My brother bailed on us a few weeks ago when Mom was moving. Then he cancelled at Thanksgiving. When Mom received the news that he wasn't coming at Thanksgiving she was sitting in my car in the Target parking lot. She burst into tears and immediately blamed Clay Akin. Now I don't know if my brother's wife is a ClayMate, but she has travelled across country to see him perform a couple of times. I'm fairly certain my brother doesn't even remember this. My mother is very bitter about Clay Akin. I'm slightly guilty in this, since I find it funny that my mom hates Clay, I tend to egg her on when she's verbally bashing him. Mom was screeching in the phone, "It's your wife's fault, if she wasn't galavanting across the world to see that little poofy, you'd have the money to come see me!" This made my brother sufficiently confused, not knowing that I've encouraged Mom to become a ClayHater, and sufficiently guilty that he wanted to know what he could do to make it up to her. I grabbed the phone and told him to buy her a loveseat. This perked Mom right up. She's been wanting a loveseat for awhile. Randall agreed just to get us off the phone. So today, after the errands, we headed out to find a loveseat... but first...

We went to Old Country Buffet. Now I know we swore just a few weeks ago, that we would never go to Old Country Buffet again, but the furniture stores are near OCB, and wouldn't it have been a shame to miss the opportunity to once again proclaim that we would never eat there? We thought so.

We did our usual thing where Mom cruises by the buffet tables and pokes at stuff suspiciously, trying to uncover hidden imitation crab meat. We ended up eating the same things we always do. Nothing too out of the ordinary until Mom went rummaging in her walker basket to grab a ziploc bag to sneak out some cornbread. She uncovered a paperback book she's been meaning to give me. It's about the I5 Killer. My mom's reading preferences lean toward bible study books and serial killers.

"Oh, take this! I've been meaning to give it to you for weeks. It's about this man that started out playing football and just flashing his weenie and then he moved on to having sad sex."

"Sad sex? NEVERMIND! I don't want to know. Just hand me the book."

"Don't be silly. It's really a good book. You know about sad sex I bet. Your father and I never had sad sex."

"Please Mom, I'm begging you. I don't want to talk about this."

"We never did that other thing either."

"Okay, that's all I need to know."

"You know, that thing with the mouths."

"Mom, please...."

"That's how they caught this guy. With the mouth thing."

"That's good to know Mom. Let's change the topic."

"Why would any woman put that in their mouth?"

"Oh my god."

"But that's not what made this man go to jail. It was the sad sex thing."

"I wonder if they'd bring me some bleach for my brain?"

"There's clubs people join just to have sad sex with strangers."

"Please, no Mom."

"No really, there is! It said so in the book. They wear zipper masks and beat each other up, then they do things like put pins in their nipples."

"Honestly, by all that's holy, can we please talk about something else?"

"But pretty soon the sad sex isn't enough and they start killing each other."

"Okay, that's enough."

"You're acting all crazy. I told you that your father and I didn't have sad sex so you don't have to get all squeamish. Just regular sex is messy enough. Can you imagine having to clean up after sad sex?"

"No Mom, I really can't. And I don't want to imagine anything else."

"You know this one time.."

"NO! Whatever you're about to say, please don't say it!"

"Your father and I were at Cousin Lucille's beach house on the porch swing..."

"LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA..."

"...and we got a little frisky..."

"LALALALALALALALALALALAAA..."

"...and your father wasn't a graceful man by any means..."

"LALALALALALALALALALALALALALLAAAAAALALALAA"

"...and he got a cramp..."

"LALALALALALALALAAALALALALAAA..."

"...and he said afterwards that the cramp made it more exciting. So maybe we did have sad sex."

"I want to die."

"Oh you! Well we might have had sad sex, but it wasn't on purpose. It started off regular, except on the swing, then it ended sad."

"Mom, I'm leaving. I'm standing up and leaving. I don't care if you've smuggled your cornbread or not. I'm leaving."

"Okay, okay! Gee, and they say it's oldies that can't talk about sex! Let's go get that loveseat."

"Oh thank God."

"... You know, now that I think about it, there was this one time your father and I ended up breaking a loveseat..."

"MOM!"

Mom's new sad sex loveseat