Cookie monster

Mom becomes very aggressive when someone disagrees with her, even about little things. I'm not sure she realizes it.

I'm not even talking about how rude and annoying she gets when someone disagrees with her about big things, like politics. I've often blogged about the circular logic, ad hominum attacks, etc. that make any serious discussion painful.

Recently, though, I've noticed a broader aggressive streak. I first observed it on mom's birthday.

Nina: That's a good idea. Alternatively, you could request gift cards to Amazon.
Mom: No! I know what works for me.

Leaving aside the issue of tackiness of asking for specific gifts, which I'll acknowledge is culturally relative, there was no need to snap at Nina.

Just now:

Mom: I should fast again. Now that I've started eating, the pain to my arm has returned.
A.: Well, it's also healthier to just not overeat, i.e. to eat in moderation.
Mom: No! Fasting is an entirely different thing.

Do you see why this conversational style doesn't exactly encourage... well, conversation?

***
I overeat when I'm at my parents house because there is food everywhere. I am not generally addicted to food, though. It's an out-of-sight, out-of-mind thing. I don't buy cookies or ice cream because I am incapable of moderation in their presence, but I don't crave them when I don't have them. That is why I am not three hundred pounds. But when they're there, I don't eat a single cookie; I eat a whole box. I don't have half a cup of ice cream; I have a pint's worth. When they're not there, I don't think about them. Really. I never sit there and think, a cookie would be great right now.

I don't blame my parents for keeping lots of food around, but I do blame them for raising me to ignore "full" signals. If I ever opted not to keep eating, I was expected to make excuses.

Dad: Have an apple.
A.: No thanks, I'm not hungry.
Dad: An apple's not food.

There are things I'm addicted to, i.e. things I crave without immediate temptation. Yesterday, mom had accidentally pilfered and hidden my New Yorker, the winter fiction issue. I was apoplectic. When I don't have a good book, I get withrawal symptoms. I'm addicted to books and crosswords. But I have a hard time ignoring food.

***
Mom just came up and offered me a very tacky brooch. It had a bunch of bells on it, and a bow on top.

Mom: This goes very well with business suits.
A.: No thanks, that's not really my style.
Mom: You are just like your father! Such orthodoxy!
A.: It's just not my style.
Mom: You took all the worst from both me and him.