Conversation (noun): The informal EXCHANGE of ideas by spoken word
Lately, "conversations" with my mom have been abundant in ideas and spoken word but grossly deficient in the exchange part of the definition. This leads me to suspect that what we may actually have taking place here is not so much a conversation but instead a method of systematic persuasion (ie brainwashing), by which my mother thinks I will eventually succumb to the deluge of information she's pumping my way and defer to my parents' knowledge of the relationship scene, thereby allowing them to marry me off to some random dude in some remote region of the planet.
Our "conversation" from last night follows:
Me:Hey amma. What's going on?
Mom: Oh! X's daughter is married!
Me: I thought they were vacationing in Pakistan.
Mom: Yes, they were. They found the boy there for her. Part of the reason X went was to find a son-in-law.
Mom: I spoke to her earlier today. I think she was right in taking her search for a good, honest boy from a decent, respectable family to Pakistan. She told me that there simply aren't any good boys left here.
Mom: Y did the same thing. Her daughter was born here. She's just as American as everyone else. Yet she trusted her parents enough to find her a husband in Pakistan. And now, she's probably going to LIVE there. What a good, obedient girl.
Me: But, it won't be--
Mom: Z's daughters grew up here but when it came time to finding husbands, they let their parents do the searching because you know what parents have that kids don't?
Mom: Experience. Parents have lived longer, parents have seen all different sorts of people and parents know their children better than anyone else. Experience is a good judge of character.
Mom: Z's brother's daughter was the VALEDICTORIAN of her university's graduating class. She was smart. What happened to her? Her parents found her a nice young man who comes from a family of jewelers! He lives in India? So what? Now she's practically swimming in jewels. Be it in India or Africa or in outerspace, she's happy and she's SWIMMING in luxury. Smart, smart girl.
Eventually, I gave up trying to interrupt her and just nodded as she ran down a list of "smart, obedient girls." I pretended to watch television.
Finally, during a commercial break, when my mom had slowed down her spamming, I said, "I don't trust men. One minute they're with you and the next minute they're running the other way and you're left wondering what happened during the interim. Look at Christie Brinkley and she's a SUPER MODEL!" I laughed. "Good riddance to all that garbage. I'd rather be alone."
It was my mother's turn to pretend to be engrossed by the television.
"Wait," I continued, perking up with a bright idea, "Why shouldn't I have kids? I'll adopt a bevy of children."
My mom supplied the following nugget: "And you know what will happen? Those kids will probably end up MURDERING you."
"Eh?" I asked.
"One, they're not your blood so they wouldn't have any loyalty to you and two, most of the adopted kids they show on Dateline are on the show in the first place, for murdering their parents.
She says such bewildering and ridiculous things when she's angry.
I was reduced to a baffled silence as she returned to watching television.