So there is something about my mom that makes her want to be Glenda the Good Witch at times. Being Catholic and all, if she eats too many chocolate cookies at the ladies canasta tea or beats out someone older than her on the tennis courts, she feels massively guilty and has to do something to make up for her good karma. Usually that involves her having to do something or bake something or drive 300 miles out of her way to do something or bake something. She also thinks its funny when I get roped into her "blessed deeds" somehow. I, however, don't.

Her latest "Project for God" was to make fried chicken and potato salad for this sick woman in our church. I happened in on the wrong time as she was making it and so I was wrangled into going with her to help with carrying the food. I was dumfounded as we were supplying this woman with enough food for the two of us to have lunch as well as dinner with. I inquired as to who this woman was. I immediately laughed when I found out. This woman is the Tammy Faye Baker of our parish. I know this because besides my grandmother (who is 88 years old), she is the only person I know that draws in her eyebrows and is proud of it. She is also 300 pounds and missing a few meals ain't gonna hurt her. I sighed and got in the car.

I helped mom with the dishes of food we brought and we knock on the door. When we get to her room (she couldnt' waddle out to us herself), we see the Jabba in it's natural habitat - lounging on her bed watching TV. All that was missing was the dancer on the chain. I was really hoping that she wouldn't have put on her eyebrows as I wondered if she didn't have any or if they grew in weird and she had to shave them off - like a monobrow. No dice. She had put on makeup and her finest pink mumu. Thanx for thinking of us.

I glared at mom. This woman is not sick. I see no pills, or a cane (she said she was suffering from back problems) or even a ventilator. She is suffering from laziness and a beer gut to match. Her slackness puts mine to shame - and maybe I am just a tad bit jealous that she thinks she is pulling it off. She motions for us to come in as she is on the phone with her daughter. "just put the food in the fridge." How convenient, she has a small fridge right there on her nightstand. This is the first warning sign that this woman needs no help from us. The second sign that this woman was on her way to being related to Shamoo was the fact that Mom and I had to spend ten minutes rearranging all the food in her fridge so that ours would actually FIT. We even had to slam the door real fast (like when i am cleaning my house and shove things in the closet that no one should open).

Jabba says a few words that we can't understand cuz she has chosen this time to eat a bunch of crap that doesn't particularly look good falling out of her mouth. Gah. We hastily make our exit and once I am outside the door I am ready to bitch mom out for what she considered a "catholic concern that we should take part in."

I explain to her that if that were me and I were sick, I wouldnt' even be bothered with food, CUZ I WOULD BE SICK AND THAT WOULD BE THE LAST THING ON MY MIND. I even asked mom if she would like me to bring over some strangers when she was in her sleep clothes to gawk at her - but we would have food. Would food be that important? She said no, looking good and having people not seeing her when she was sick is better than eating food. I am glad she agreed. I don't think we are making this woman any more buffet platters. But with all the food in her fridge - she is ready for a nuclear fallout.

Now I am not against taking food to the sick, and I am not against porky people. I do have a problem with people saying they are sick - when in fact, they just can't get their lazy butt out of bed to cook a meal. If you can put on makeup - you can make a sandwich. If you can dress yourself - you can pop open a tv dinner. If you can get your mail - you can hook an IV up to your arm. I can't cook and you don't see me whining on my bed and calling up my friends for help. I go their houses without warning on my own and help myself to their fridges. I can be the biggest slacker in the world - but at least my being slacker doesn't entail anyone to make me a chicken pot pie.