By constant, Gestapo-levels of snooping and inquiring (including once when she actually rummaged into my trash and found prescription pills!), my mother sometimes does find tiny things about my private life that she finds objectionable.
I cook up a totally fake explanation on the spot, and she gloats.
Oh, how she gloats.
“You see? I KNEW it. Remember I know ALL about you, because I’m your mother, and a mother knows everything”.
The sanctimonious cow. I am 32, a gay woman (after a few disastrous attempts at straight relationships) and a highly functioning alcoholic.
My bigoted, know-it-all mother does not know a millionth of my life.
