This morning, when I got back from the gym, I found this lovely stuff waiting for me on the kitchen table. Two dozen white tulips (my favorite flower); a box of chocolate truffles (self-explanatory); and three cards from my kids: one from Taxi, one from Shana, and one from both of them.
But my other son? The one I gave up for adoption when I was eight, worked myself ragged to put through college AND medical school anyway, and who is now a fancy big shot Park Avenue surgeon? Nothing. He never calls, he never writes … Bastard.
Have a lovely Mother’s Day. Be nice to your mom. (Translation: Don’t take her to an all-you-can-gorge buffet. If you go out, I suggest a restaurant where they hand out menus.) Tell her I say hi.