Other Saturday stuff

Mom will drive only very short distances now, so yesterday, dad drove. Mom provided a running commentary ("you might have started braking by now," etc.). I said I'd sit upfront on the way back to give her less inspiration, but dad said that wouldn't put a dent in the commentary, and he was right. He said it ran in the family--apparently, my maternal grandmother, who never drove a day in her life, also liked to narrate other people's (read: my dad's) driving.

It wasn't hard to think about the other things that ran in my family, especially because in the course of however many hours we were out, each of us triangulated an accusation at another, using the third as the bad example.

Mom: Can you believe she tried to rip that pasta out of my hand?
Dad: Yes. She's just like you.
A: I don't understand why you're buying crappy pasta when for $1.29 you can get very tasty, not to mention whole-wheat and organic pasta, at Whole Foods.
Mom: I am set in my ways and I'll get the pasta I want.
A.: You could at least try the whole-wheat pasta. If you're not even willing to try it, you're being just like dad.

And so on.

***
For some reason, mom has felt the need to bring up RM several times, usually in the context of "I feel bad for him. He was such a nice guy, and you harassed him." I harassed him? How does that work? I thought of him for another reason, though: he, too, thought I needed saving from myself. From my loneliness in particular. And I don't just mean that he would talk to me to save me from my loneliness; he would regularly try to convince me (well, he would regularly inform me) that I was lonely. I would tell him otherwise, but he would come back with something like, "oh, good--you have plans with a friend this weekend. You won't be lonely." I couldn't get it through his head that I wasn't lonely, just like I can't convince mom that I'm not deprived. Mom's not the only one who's suggested that I'm martyring myself for veganism--a friend said she could never do it because she loved food too much--but you guys know how much I love food. It's not like I'm drooling over the eggs and dairy on my parents' plates, wishing I could have some. I really, truly want none of it.

***
Last night, as usual, mom talked to herself as she looked for something or just put things away, and as usual, she tried to involve dad and me in this conversation with herself. So I decided to go to bed so I could read without being asked whether she'd already e-mailed this friend or another. And as usual, she said, "you're going to bed? It's only ten o' clock," and, like the night before, shook her head in disbelief that I'd go to bed so early. It couldn't have been disbelief, because she knows-she's always commented--on my going to bed 'so early.' But like the way I eat--not just what I eat writ large, but what I eat at any given moment--and how I walk, and how dad drives, and about everything else, mom doesn't get why it's not just done the way she'd do it. To what extend do you think everyone thinks that but only some people express it? Not that much, right? I mean, I know I don't give much thought to how other people should do basic things.