Why Laurie Notaro's Mother is Threatening Not to Speak with Her

Categories: Literary

Laurie Notaro is an author, crafter, and expert at finding a good cocktail. She grew up in Phoenix, but is currently based in Eugene, Oregon. Each week, she'll be joining us to share a crafting adventure, draw a flowchart, or remember a few of her favorite things about Phoenix. Today, she shares her latest conversation with her mother, who's threatening not to speak to her.

Anne Taintor
"That's it!" my mother snapped from the other end of the phone. "I'm not talking to you anymore. From now on, we are not talking!"

This was hardly the response I expected after giving my mother a compliment. I was stunned. No, I take that back. I was not stunned, but I guess I didn't expect that strong of a reaction.

"Did you hear what I said?" I reiterated, positive--no, I take that back--hopeful that she had heard me wrong when I told my mother that when I got notes back on a project I was writing, the first thing on the agenda was "More of your mother. Love her."

See also:
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"I heard what you said, and that's why I'm not talking to you anymore," she explained, her voice rising. "If I don't talk to you anymore, then you can't write about me anymore."

"That is ridiculous," I stammered. "Who doesn't want to be everyone's favorite part?"

"ME!" she shot back. "Why don't you write about your in-laws? They're funny."

"Are you kidding?" I asked. "That lineage is off limits! Most of them have guns and I have to eat Christmas dinner with those people!"

"In that case, I'm buying the next gun I see on QVC," my mother informed me. "Even if it's not a Joan Rivers brand."

"See?" I said. "That's why you're everyone's favorite part."
"You were their favorite part in the whole thing!," I tried to tell her. "They want more of you!"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about. You have a weird brain. Why can't you leave me alone and write about little boys and girls like that other woman with the weird brain?" my mother asked.

I took a stab at it.

"You mean JK Rowling?" I answered. "The richest woman in the world? I do not have the same brain as JK Rowling."

"Well, maybe not the same one, but there's something wrong with both of your brains," my mother continued. "She's a weirdo. I heard there's a lot of sex in her new book. Disgusting. You should try to write a magic book, and one that the mother in it is dead."

"I can't help it if you're funny, Mom," I tried to explain. "That's not my fault. That's God's fault."

"Don't blame God for that!" my mother snapped. "I am not funny. I just don't know why you couldn't have been a nurse or a paralegal."

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