Thursday, March 3, 2011

Not MY Mom

Someone's mother went out for a drive.  Said mother went to a slightly less desireable neighborhood, but really, it wasn't like it was the Southside of Chicago, or South Central LA or anything. 

As she is departing, she notices in her rearview mirror a vehicle that seems to be following her.  But, she doesn't make much of it, people go down the main roads, and sometimes they do it at the same time. 

Upon arriving at her place of worship, she notices the same car again.  Odd, she thinks to herself, as my place of worship is not really on the beaten path.  Perhaps I will not get out of the car but drive around a bit and see what happens.

She drives by her house.

She drives by the school her grandson goes to.

She drives by the house her younger son lives in.

She drives by the grocery store.

Still, this car is following her.

Finally, she decides she is being stalked.  Bear in mind that this is someone's 80 year old mother.  Not MY mother, but someone's.

Once that feeling of being stalked sets in, she decides to loose this turkey.  She guns the engine, and puts a few cars between here and the would be assassin.  She hightails it to the highway patrol office.  She figures her stalker will leave her alone if she has a few of California's finest by her side.

She breathlessly tells the officers her tale of being followed.  They assure her that she did the right thing by coming to them.  As she looks out the window, the car enters the parking lot.  The driver gets out of his car.

She waves furiously at the police officer, that is the man that was following me.  The cops are ready, guns at their sides. 

Then, it hits her.  That man, he doesn't look so stalker-ish.  He looks well vaguely familiar.  He continues into the police headquarters.

As he draws nearer to the office, she gets a better look at his face.  She KNOWS her stalker.  They say that the ones to worry about are the ones you know, but she never expected it to be her oldest son.

But, this didn't happen to MY mother, just someone's.

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