I am a simple girl, I have but one fantasy.

I am a simple girl, I have but one fantasy. When my mother opens her mouth, I wish I could just shout "BORING!" Just cut her off in mid-sentence when she's telling me about

how she was raised by wolves and the ways of the forest. My mom would go on and on about the alpha males and hunting packs. (Blah. Blah. Blah.) A girl can take only so much.

I snapped. "If you know so much, how come you married the omega wolf?" Dad was lying in a ray of sunlight leaking into the den, howling drunkenly. Mom fought back tears; her hands

much for a normal evening in our household. No such thing. So I wasn't surprised when Dad suddenly grabbed Mom from behind, threw her over his shoulder & began singing selections

from "The Magic Flute". Mom's kicks and screams really added to the performance - a particularly well placed kick allowed Dad to reach coloratura range - the "Queen of the Night"

was Dad until he lapsed unconscious. We continued to torture our parents with public domain recorder tunes while Mom screamed, "I wish you'd been castrati!" She flailed in agony,

But what was she to me? With her tupperware parties and ceaseless poker nights, my mother had never really been present for our childhood. Sometimes I looked at her and couldn't

believe she has the audacity to call me her child, or even have a say in any matter of my life. Nevertheless, I have come to accept these things as they are, for if it weren't for

her, I'd be richer than the Wolf on Wall Street and since the love of money is the root of all evil, I guess you could say that in some sick, weird, twisted way, she is my savior.