...It's true.

Let's consider this. I went to my mother's today, as I do often on Tuesdays to see her. I usually help her out with the house a bit too, throwing out old stuff and the sort, but that never bothered me, as she never asks me for much. Often times I get off easy.

Anyway, I go over there tonight, and try to surprise her by saying I'd set up my old laptop for her so she can replace her current one (which is hella-old and slow as hell). So, I lug this 8 pound thing (not including peripherals) along with my macbook (another 6 pounds with peripherals) to her house and set up to install.

Of course, dumb me, I forget to bring the proper XP install CD. I brought the wrong one which didn't work and is useless. Damn.

Now I'm read to lug 18 pounds of computer back out to my car when I leave. But NO. I can't leave my mother's house empty! Hell no! I have to take some little things she got at the dollar store and the book store for me! I say "sure," as how much weight can some dollar store stuff and a book or two be?

Yeah, right. I forgot she was Italian.

Here's the list of shit she bought me:
- Propel water bottles...TEN of them. These things are huge, too, and are like a pound each. Add 10 pounds.
- 5 heavy-ass hardcover books...add another five pounds.
- Some snacks to take home...about another 4-5 pounds...

Ugh, so now I'm set to lug about 40 pounds of shit back, give or take.

Then she gives me the Chivas Regal 12-year bottle of scotch she found in the basement.

Not that it's amazingly heavy, but it's another pound of two, and it's glass, so I have to be careful. I'd say no, but hell, it's scotch. An $80 bottle of scotch to boot. Who would say no?

So we go get pizza. Nothing serious, right? Wrong. First I have to argue with her that I should be allowed to pay my share. After losing the argument, we get a whole pie. She eats two slices, and I'm expected to eat the other six ("Eat, eat, eat! Don't waste it...it's good food!") So I'm here now, after eating 6 slices, feeling ready to explode.

So we come back and I help her throw out some stuff. But as I'm leaving, here I am, laden with two laptop bags (all pulling on the left side of my neck), and like 5 bags of shit, including at least 3-4 gallons of water and a heavy-ass bottle of scotch. Lugging it to my car was hard enough...try opening the trunk with no hands.

Then I get home and get to re-position myself to lug this shit back. Naturally, all my neighbors were out enjoying the evening, looking at me fumbling around like a fucking moron, bringing in almost 50 pounds of crap from my mother's house.

Surprisingly, I didn't have a heart attack lugging this shit in, and I go "phew!" All good! Right? WRONG.

Try finding a place for all this shit now without getting your wife to yell at you "God Dammit, why did you mother have to give us all this stuff that we don't have room for???"

There you go. Stress, overeating, and lugging 50 pounds of shit to and from my car, all of it bearing on my neck or my fingers.

Ugh. I swear, mothers really CAN be hazardous to your health. Gotta love 'em, though!