Babe On Maids/Mothers

Unlike most of you normal psychos, I didn’t grow up with a mom around. My dad, Mabinty (nanny/bff), and grandmother were what I had to work with. When I was a kid, Mother’s Day was always a bit special in my house, and by special I mean non-existent. It was like any other Sunday. I would sleep till dinner, wake up, watch The Sopranos while everyone else ate saltfish and butter beans (Jamaican staple and Mabinty’s fave), smoke a joint with everyone, and go back to sleep.

Now that I’m an old woman of 24 disgusting years, I’m basically realizing that Mabinty, my nanny/bff, was the woman who should’ve been celebrated every Mother’s Day. She was the one  to teach me about tits, pussies, and periods.  Mabinty was also the one who was there to tell me I was beautiful when I threatened to jump off the roof because Joshua Jackson didn’t respond to my fan-mail.

So, in honor of my loving mother-figure/maid/nanny/bff/emotional confidant, I’m gonna eat the salt and the butter tonight. And I’m gonna like it. I swear.

I love you, Mabs. Sorry I called you a bitch yesterday. You’re not a bitch.

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