On mothers, fathers and selective (?) hearing.
(Brief because I’m still on page 2 of 15 and the paper is due Wednesday.)
So towards the end of our Mother’s Day get-together, my father retires to the TV room to watch baseball. (Or whatever. I don’t know. I hate professional sports, because I grew up listening to him scream at the TV every time things didn’t go exactly the way he wanted in his game. Consequently, both my brother and I view sporting events as a source of terror, at least on a subconscious level.)
My brother and I were still in the kitchen–where we’d been eating (store bought) pie minutes earlier–with our mother. My mother was trying to describe something my father had read somewhere about how conservatism is a genetic trait (uh, yeah, I still don’t buy that) and my father starts shouting from the other room to correct her, repeatedly. Eventually she shakes her head and says that if she’s asking him to bring her something, he never hears it. To which he shouts back “Oh, come on!”
A few minutes later, further comments back and forth around three corners caused us all three to laugh…and send my father into a snit.
My mother went into the TV room to calm him down, and starts cooing at him about how we weren’t laughing at him, and holding her arms out to him and saying “come here, sweetie” and I am fighting not to crack up.
Because it was exactly the same routine she uses to calm their cat when he’s in a snit.
Scary thing is, it even worked.
I guess men and cats operate on the same frequency. Maybe that’s why there’s more cat-hating men than women; they don’t like the competition.