Hi. It’s me. Mojo. The real boss of this household.
Today, Mom is on the phone with the “insurance people” again. I know this because she’s been sitting in the same spot for two hours, holding that little rectangle to her face, making the sigh. You know the sigh — the one where her whole soul leaves her body for a second.
Here is a minute-by-minute breakdown of my thoughts:
Minute 1 – Oh, cool, we’re sitting down. This is my chance to jump on her lap and secure maximum petting.
Minute 2 – Why are we not petting? Why are we yelling “representative” over and over?
Minute 4 – The hold music is back. It’s the same song from last week. I hate it. I will now stare directly into her soul until she hangs up.
Minute 7 – Mom just said, “I’ve already explained this.” That means she’s explained it 12 times.
Minute 9 – She’s pacing. She does this before either crying or yelling. I will follow in case snacks drop.
Minute 12 – SHE SAID MY NAME. Oh wait… she’s using me as an example of “emotional support” to get something approved. This feels manipulative. I approve.
Minute 15 – Hold music again. I’m going to the water bowl.
Minute 24 – Still on hold. I’ve now brought her my toy three times. She has ignored it three times. This is unacceptable.
Minute 28 – She just said, “I understand you’re doing your job, but…” That’s human for brace yourself, it’s about to get spicy.
Minute 32 – Mom’s voice just went up an octave. This is not the fun octave. I’m retreating to the blanket fort.
Minute 37 – Hold music. AGAIN. I am convinced these people are paid per minute.
Minute 50 – Victory? She said “thank you.” Oh wait… no. She hung up and immediately dialed another number.
Minute 53 – I have officially given up and am lying dramatically in the hallway so she can trip over me and remember her priorities (me).
Final Thoughts:
I don’t know what “insurance” is, but it seems evil, smells like stress, and makes Mom’s face do the same thing it does when she gets bad news. I will continue my moral support duties by being adorable and occasionally shoving my head under her hand until she remembers I am the superior coping mechanism.
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