Motherly Mauling: Mental Anquish We All Enjoy

By Adel

Mothers. We love them. For the love of Pete, we created an entire holiday for them. Children buy them flowers, take them to dinner, and always say "hi, Mom" when they get their fifteen minutes of fame. For some reason, or another, we all seem to forget we have a dad when we make the winning touchdown during the Superbowl.

I'm sorry, fathers around the world. This is just how it is.

Some mothers are the kind that will bake cookies just because it's Wednesday. These moms will bake a cake when you visit. They are sweet, endearing people who have nothing but the best intentions and make the creamiest chocolate icing for a devil's food cake that has ever existed. I am talking a complete Roman-esq orgy for your taste buds. Icing so deliciously chocolaty and smooth, you'll have to change your underwear after.

In short, many mothers out there are amalgamations of television moms. I have seen a few of them, first hand. It's amazing.

Is it just me or does Mrs. Cunningham look hot in this photo? It can't be just me.

However, for every June Cleaver there is a Joan Crawford. Luckily, my mother isn't on either end of this motherly spectrum. She falls somewhere between Edina Monsoon and Peg Bundy. Oh, did I mention there is a dash of Gestapo interrogator in there? I should have mentioned that.

My mother is a hell of a lot prettier, but her methods are the same.

My mother is one of a kind, but there are many out there that share the desire to unleash a wave of mental and emotional torment when meeting their child's significant other for the first time. Sure, some moms are sweet as pie. But, others (like mine) love a chance to infiltrate, explore, then crush the poor bastard's psyche. Oh, they have varying degrees of subtlety, but the end game is always the same. Establish from the get go that she can reduce you to a quivering bowl of jelly any bloody time she wants.

Hmmm. Now which one did I come in with?

When it comes down to it, this sort of thing isn't so much to get acquainted as it is a lioness' hunt for prey. Poor, dumb, unassuming prey on the Serengeti of her daughter's love life.

Stage 1: The Hunt


My mother visited me from London. It was a wonderful treat for me. I do miss her very much. But, when she suggested that she get to know my boyfriend, Tom, better, I had pause. Let me restate that. I shat a brick. I know this woman. She wasn't looking for familiarity. She was looking to rip out his soul and eat it.

A public place. Yes! A public place is perfect for a sit down and chat. There are lots of people and the chances of anyone (Mother) making a scene are very low. OK, sure. Let's have dinner. The three of us. In public. Nice and public. Near the police, just in case.

Tom met us at the restaurant, looking rather charming in his wedding/funeral/graduation/Confirmation suit. He wanted to impress my mother. He had a snowball's chance in hell.Tom could have been wearing a tuxedo for all she cared. All she saw was prey. Sweet, delicious prey. He might as well have worn a vest made out of steaks while strolling through the lion paddock at the zoo.

Stage 2: The Set Up

We generated the typical dinner chit chat normally associated with a casual meal. But, it all went wrong. The rules changed. The situation spiraled out of control like Snoopy's Sopwith Camel after a run in with the Red Baron.


To test the waters, Mom threw out a, seemingly innocent question. "Do you and my daughter see much of each other." The snare was set. And the poor dumb animal stepped right into it.

"Oh, yes." Tom replied rather happily (I don't know why. I regularly order him about like a dog). "We see a lot of each other. I really enjoy spending the weekends together."

Tom! No! It's a set up. My eyes widened. My heart beat faster. What has he done?

Stage 3: The Pounce


Mom cracked an evil grin and delivered the first body blow. "Oh, Tom that's sweet. So you're staying overnight, then? Banging my only child like a drum in a Civil War march?"

This is me, apparently.

Tom looked visibly pained; the wind knocked right out of him. He looked at me for help, but I had none to give. He had to wade through this killing field alone. It was the only way.

"Um.. no, that's not what I meant!" Tom shakily replied, trying to regain his bearings. "I just look forward to spending time with her that's it. You know, for the company."

But there was no escape. There was no sweet release.

Stage 4: Immobilizing the Prey

All this over hor dourves.

Mom's eyes sparkled with the intentions of a KGB agent wielding a cable connected to a car battery. "I see, Tom. So, my daughter isn't attractive enough to sleep with, then?"

Ouch! This was a rabbit punch. He started to sweat. Poor Tom began to mindlessly fiddle with his silverware, desperately searching for the right answer. But, instead of running away screaming, he ventured further into the tar pit. "No, that's not what I meant. She's beautiful. She is definitely attractive enough to sleep with. I mean... it's... um..."

"So, you're just in it for the shagging? To get in her pants? To do a little bit of the mattress mambo?" Ever see a lion toying with its kill on one of those nature channels? This was worse.

I think he stopped breathing for a full minute.

Stage 5: The Kill

Mom kept him teetering on the edge of surrealism. She would eye him up from time to time during the meal, just to make sure he was as uncomfortable as possible. He was a wounded gazelle. There was no hope of running away. The lioness was relentless.

Over dessert, Tom figured he would go a different route with the conversation and compliment my mother. Don't get me wrong, my mother's ego must be feed regularly. But, this situation was very different. She wasn't interested in flattery. Her fangs were on her prey's jugular with a gentle, yet firm pressure. But, like all nature shows, the gazelle must die and the lioness must feed.

Mustering all the confidence he had left, Tom slapped a smile on his face and randomly threw out a: "I can definitely see where your daughter gets her looks. You look like you could be her sister," compliment. It was one of the finest accolades a mother could get. Alas, it just fed the machine.

"Why, thank you Tom. You're very sweet. So, you think I'm pretty?"



He looked at me. I stared back, trying to warn him with my mind. The lioness was about to tear out her prey's throat. Make it quick. Make it quick! I smiled and said something about how the women in my family have a knack for sheer British hotness. It wasn't enough to save him though.

"Absolutely." Tom said, with a renewed confidence. "You're a very beautiful woman."

Mom smiled, giving him a false sense of security. "So, Tom, how long have you been checking me out? As soon as you came in? Or did you start looking me over sometime during the entree? Imaging a little mother- daughter action? A Tom sandwich with two slices of English bread."

Mmmmmhmmmmm. That's good prey.

The night ended as nights do. My mother viewed the senseless violation of Tom's mind as the best way to get to know him. It wasn't only recreational. It was educational. The only way to see a man's true self is to systematically break him down and see what he does with the pieces. All in all, he proved worthy. My mother was pleased with this learning experience.

Tom, on the other hand..


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When not taking forever to write for The Fuse Was Too Cold, Adel enjoys visiting her significant other in the mental hospital. Especially on pudding day.

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