Welcome to America. Now Speak English.*

The Moms called me several weeks ago and requested we plan a trip to Europe. To France, specifically. Maybe even a little jaunt to Italy. Together.

*sigh*

So many things factor into this being a terrible idea.

I.
The Moms has been having her nails manicured regularly for about 10 years now. Down in the Southern Homestead, that all but requires visiting a shop operated by Vietnamese women (and the occasional man). The Moms takes great offense when any of the people in the shop speak their native tongue. She is convinced they are talking about her.

The Moms: I know they're talking about me. I can hear them call me "cow."
Belle: Oh? When did you learn to say "cow" in Vietnamese?
The Moms: I didn't, but, you know, it sounds like "cow" when they're talking...
Belle: The Moms! They speak another language! A very different language. I'm sure the word for cow does NOT sound the same in English and Vietnamese.
The Moms: (mumbles) ...well, it sounds like cow to me...

As much as I hate to admit it, The Moms has actually said things like, "They need to speak English if they're going to live here. This is Ahmericuh."

And I'm supposed to go to a foreign land with this lady? To France?

Right.

II.
In December of 2001, The Moms and I journeyed to good ol' PA to visit some of her friends acquaintances. Initially the idea was sold to me as a trip to NYC.** I'd never been. The cost for me was nil, and I'd been out of The Moms' house just long enough to forget how wonderfully we get along with one another.

The night before our flight, the two of us were standing in the kitchen. She was nagging me about something, and I was being a 19-year-old pain in the ass, I'm sure. But then she had to go and do it. You're acting just like Older Brother!

The thing about Older Brother had been a sore spot for years. You see, Older Brother's entire life had been devoted to breaking every rule, crossing every boundary, doing whatever it took to get what he wanted and hurting as many people as possible in the process.

But, somehow, it seemed he was never punished or held accountable for any of his actions. No, not Older Brother. He was the Golden Child. No matter how much property he destroyed or how many people he emotionally maimed, his word was still valued above anything I ever said or did.***

Comparing me to Older Brother when I took even a pinkie toe off the line was a favorite past time of every adult in our family. And doing so was the ultimate insult because it was pretty much the only time anyone acknowledged that I was basically a good kid, but at the same time it put me in the same boat with this relative monster. And the comparison was always unfair. I wasn't malicious or hateful. A mouthy teenager? Yes. But I was not evil.

That night in the kitchen with The Moms, having been out of her house for about two years and having a bit of family-related counseling under my belt, I couldn't stand it anymore.

You're acting just like Older Brother! she'd said, pointing an accusing finger at me.

And I lost it.

FUCK! I yelled. I am NOT Older Brother! You always say this to me. FUCK!

I'm pretty sure I was a bit more verbose in my high-volume response, but I can't remember the specifics, and the point is that I yelled 'fuck' at The Moms. She stood there a long moment with her jaw slack before tears filled her eyes and she left the room. Yeah... She pretty much didn't speak to me until about 24 hours later... well after we'd arrived in PA and sat through an uncomfortable dinner with a bunch of people I'd never met.

The trip itself only got worse. We actually got into an argument on a bus in NYC. I vowed to never travel with The Moms again, and her sentiment was "ditto." We didn't speak to each other for another 12 hours or so after that one.**** (And no one else spoke during the entire trip back to PA.)

III.
A few years later, The Moms decided to send Older Brother and me on a cruise for Christmas. The day before we were to depart, Older Brother went MIA, and The Moms ended up accompanying me to Mexico.

I have to admit that we had a better time on that trip (the massages and booze helped), but things were still tense between us. Especially when our ship docked and The Moms and I ventured out for a little shopping. She refused to buy anything from anyone who tried to bargain with her, which caused me infinite annoyance and meant she paid a great deal more for items at stores than she would have paid for the same goods at local sellers' shops. It also showed me she's not willing to deal with anything unfamiliar, even when she's in another effing country.

IIII.
Due to circumstances beyond our control,***** The Moms moved in with me for a time soon after I left The Black Hole. The city was bigger than any she'd lived in before, and she was completely unfamiliar with it. Rather than equipping herself with maps and finding her way around, The Moms called me at work at least once a day, lost and sobbing. I had to try to figure out where she was and where she needed to go.

And, guess what? That was a city in Ahmericuh, and pretty much everyone spoke English there.

Did she ask for directions? If she did ask, were the directions accurate? If they were accurate, were they useful to her? The answer to all of these questions: Not Likely.

Now take all these factors and mix them up. Put The Moms and me in a country where the primary language isn't English. Where we aren't familiar with the methods of transportation. Where the money isn't what we're used to. Where the people aren't what we're used to... You get the idea.

Sounds like a recipe for disaster.

At least I convinced her of one thing and demanded a second the last time we spoke on the subject.
1. We will go only to Italy.
2. She will learn some Italian before we go.


* The Misogynist saw a shirt that said this when we were in O.C. Ugh.
** In reality, we were in NYC for a matter of hours, almost all of which were spent watching The Lion King on Broadway.
*** Younger Brother had the same lot, but he and I don't share The Moms.
**** Making our hosts quite uncomfortable, I can assure you.
***** Mother Nature is a bitch, and the U.S. government was (is) neither equipped nor prepared at this time to deal with serious natural disasters. And that's all I've got to say about that.