Full Christmas Jacket

After the waiter took our order, Mom leaned across the table.

"You can tell he's a player," she said.

"A player? You mean, like, for a football team?"

"You know what I mean."

"I actually want no part of knowing what you mean."

"You can tell he's the type of man who goes out with a lot of women."

"How can you tell that?"

"You can just tell. Why aren't you wearing the jacket I got you?"

"Which one? You got me three for Christmas."

"I told you what happened. I bought you one last year and decided to give it to you this year instead. But then I forgot I had it, and then I bought the two for this year, and then I found the third one. If you don't like them I suppose you can just throw them in the trash."

"Instead I think I'll open my own outlet store."

"I hope you like them."

"Sure I do, Mom. And here, I took this home accidentally."

"What is it?"

"It's the gift Chris and Cinira got for you."

"I don't want it."

"Why not? They thought it was funny. You hate Trump, so they thought you..."

"It says Trump on it?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, I thought it was just something nasty. I thought they were just laughing at me."

"Right. Laughing about how you need to use toilet paper. Boy, you really interpret things negatively."

"Well, I don't want it."

"Fine."

Our food came, served by the player. He winked at Mom.

"See??"

"Mm. Anyway, as I was saying about Star Wars, when George Lucas first started writing Star Wars he was influenced by Joseph Campbell, and also Jungian depth psychology which in turn, ergo, was problematical for--"

"You know who you sound like right now? Your father."

"Dad doesn't know anything about film."

"I know that. You just sound like him in how you're speaking right now. You know, when you were three days old, and I was bringing you home from the hospital, your father only wanted to talk about Ayn Rand. Here you were, a beautiful baby, and he was just going on and on, just like you now."

We ate. I got the check, and as we prepared to leave I mentioned that I would be working a lot since several people would be out for the holidays. Mom shook her head.

"Oh! That's terrible. It's always you the burden falls on, isn't it? You're just like me. Always the doormat for everyone else."

"So let me see if I understand this. When I talk like Dad, it's bad. When I act like you, it's sad. It's hard to win."

"Yes!" Mom said, pleased. She nodded. "It's hard to win."

"And with that..."

As we left, the waiter was talking to an old lady by the bar. Mom gave me a significant look.

"Your mother is always right, isn't she?"

"Yes, Mom," I said, with infinite weariness.