I grew up in one of those houses where complaints of a headache were met with “Here, sugar, have half a Xanax.” As you might imagine, we watched a lot of tennis. My mother’s touring Europe this summer, and is making me teach her German phrases to employ in case she encounters Boris Becker poolside somewhere on The Continent. Now, I love my mother, but we have what you’d charitably call a Complicated Relationship, so understand that when she turns out to have asked her idol to remove the axe from her head when she thought she was asking to buy him a drink, I misled her out of love. And spite. But mostly love.
Happy Mothers’ Day, Momma.