Watching football with my mom is an experience unlike any other. Oh, everything starts out pleasant enough, but as the game progresses--especially if she feels our team is playing poorly--her southern charm periodically morphs into this rabid, eye-popping, she-football-monster, a-la-Scooby Doo. Should they pick up their game and start scoring points, Scooby-monster-mom calmly settles back into her sweet southern self...until the next bad call, missed FG, or stupid playing calling tees her off.
My dad is a little more laid back in the football department. His definition of emotion is to shout in a moderately raised voice, "Get 'em" or "Sonuvabitch," followed by throwing up his arms in disgust or a fist pump in jubilation.
Between the two, you have me. I inherited both genes, which makes for...well...a fun time, I'm told. Toss in my slight tendency for rocking back-and-forth on the edge of my seat, along with nervous pacing, and some couch-quarterbacking, recliner coaching, and a whole lot of passion, and I'd say my family can rival a sold out Cowboys' Stadium on Thanksgiving Day.
Case in point: Friday night; Cotton Bowl; LSU v. Texas A&M.
My daddy raised me to hate A&M. Why? Hook 'em horns. My mama, on the other hand, lives and breathes the LSU Tigers. So, come Friday, the electricity had mounted to something even I couldn't predict. My dad took to nervous snacking, while I sat calmly...drinking soda. Yeah, yeah, I know. I figure I get a pass on that one. I mean, hello? It's LSU!
My mom? Oddly quiet. Like the eye of a hurricane. I kept asking if she was all right; things were NOT going our way in the first quarter...in fact, LSU looked downright awful.
Mom, much too calm: "Fine, honey, just fine."
When my mom uses the word fine, she is so way worse than fine.
Finally, Jordan Jefferson (LSU QB) takes it in for a touchdown.
Out of absolutely nowhere, my mom shouts: "THERE WE GO! FINALLY! Now, let's stop looking like a vajayjay out there and annihilate these hush puppies!"
I literally choked on my soda--we're talking soda up the nose, burning throat, gurgling gag--whole nine.
Me, shocked and laughing uncontrollably: "Did you just say vajayjay?"
Mom, wide-eyed: "Yes, why?"
Me: "Do you even know what that means?"
Mom: "No, but I heard it on MTV. I figured it must be slang for idiots or fools or something along those lines. Why? What does it mean?"
Yes, my mom watches MTV.
Me, unable to stop laughing, while nearly coughing up a lung: "It's definitely slang. It's slang for, um, the female private parts."
My mom's eyes widened even more, her mouth hanging open in shock.
Mom: "Really? You mean like the 'p' word?"
Me: "Really and yes, like that word."
Mom, after a brief moment, broke into a big smile: "Huh, how do you like that..."
Mom, giggling: "It was even more fitting than I thought!"
Me: "Ladies and gentlemen, my mama."
And the laughs continued through the the 41-24 LSU pummeling of A&M.
She called Cam Newton (she doesn't like him--google the controversy surrounding him and you'll see why) a vajayjay tonight after he said God uses him as a vessel.
I think she's found a new word.
Y'all should really watch a game with us sometime. :)