Incongruity

This morning, on the Mt. Vernon Trail:

A.: I'm passing on your left.
Jogger: Jesus loves you!

***
I've crossed paths with the Jesus-loves-you guy before, but I think that was the first time I passed him on the same side, because the incongruousness of the exchange struck me. It reminded me of other absurd exchanges (that I would like to collect in an anthology one day), like:

A.: Hi. I'm here to feed a cat in apartment #3c. Could you please sign over the key and buzz me into the lobby?
Receptionist: You can't take dogs through the lobby.

or

A.: How thickly did you want these sliced?
Mom: Doesn't matter.

Thirty seconds later

Mom: You're slicing those much too thick!

I could go on. I could also re-post that article from last week about how processing absurdity is good for the brain, but it really was either last week or the week before, so if you care enough you'll find it in one of the roundups. Instead, I'm going to ask you whether it's just me, or it's really funny that my mother, when presented with the fact that someone has paid me a compliment (or tolerated my presence), whether over food, dress or anything else, rarely misses an opportunity to attribute that compliment to the other person's politeness, yet, at the same time, uses as evidence of her superiority, the compliments that people have paid her. Whose spontaneity I have reason to question, because I can actually see my mother presenting something at a dinner and saying, "everyone always loves this. What do you think?"

I mean, she could be right: although people regularly tell me, with no prompting on my part, that I'm a very good cook, it's possible that all of those people are just being polite. I, personally, like my own cooking, but then again, I'm biased. Actually, people--including polite people--do let me know when they're not thrilled with a particular dish (and are thrilled with others). And I notice, at dinner parties and other parties, what food goes over well (and that would be most of it). That's part of the fun of it--trying new things and understanding that something might not turn out as planned, or that some people may not like something. I'll tell you that the pea dumplings go over brilliantly, with nary a leftover dumpling. Nonetheless, when my mother asks what I'm making for a party and I say 'pea dumplings', she consistently launches into her schpiel about how mushroom dumplings are a must and how dumplings have to have this or that. That extra logical leap of, 'yes, those dumplings are good. These are very good, too, and I'd like to do something different' just doesn't happen.

On the bright side, this takes any pressure off of me: if mom is going to disparage anything I make for Thanksgiving, I have no reason to stress about it. I don't mind eating leftover moussaka for a week--it's that good. I do mind eating leftover mushroom-potato casserole-- it's okay. I mean, sure, it's good, but it's boring. If you put enough butter and salt in something, and melt enough cheese on top of it, sure people will love it. It's not bad. If I were at someone else's home and it were served to me, I would eat it. But it is what it is, and I like to try something new from time to time. But I digress--this post isn't about specific foods; it's about my mother's attitude (and selective application of her they're-just-being-polite logic). With all the roommate drama, I almost forgot how... full of personality mom can be.

There's another, bigger issue here: a mature person with an iota of self-awareness might say to herself, "I'm clearly a much better cook than my daughter is; I'm not sure why she even bothers. However, she doesn't seem to be receptive to my offers to bring a lot of food, so although it might entail some gastronomic sacrifice on my part, it's more important to celebrate Thanksgiving in peace and civility, so I won't keep pushing this." But that's really funny. I mean, we are talking about my mother.