Inappropriate BWAHAHAHAHA

It's finally happened.

The Woman With Absolutely No Sense of Boundaries Whatsoever--better known as my mom-- finally got her karmic comeuppance for thirty-seven years of not respecting my personal space.

My mom has a history of demanding too much info--and of obtaining it through any possible means. When I was eighteen she read my diary; even to this day, she still asks inappropriate questions about my finances and other issues. And she absolutely cannot resist opening things she shouldn't--boxes, medicine cabinets...drawers...

Well, when I moved, I stored a bunch of stuff in her basement--boxes, tools, shelves, a bunch of stuff. Among the collection was an old dresser, which had spent the last few years of its life in LJ's room at Chez Gladys. I thought I'd emptied out all the contents of the drawers, but...well, maybe not so much.

Because apparently, a few days ago, Mom was in the basement, and she decided to open up the drawer of this dresser (which could have absolutely NOTHING in it pertaining to her) and rummage through this drawer (containing a tangle of mens' socks and size XXXXXXL t-shirts which were OBVIOUSLY not mine)...

...where she discovered a small collection of DVD's.

(You know where this is heading, don't you?)

DVD's with names like "Black A*N*A*L--Five Hours of HOT A$$-F***ing!!!"

Oh--and they had EXTREMELY relevant cover-art.

She showed this collection to me today, when we were downstairs putting away the Christmas tree. "They're not....YOURS, are they?" she asked, obviously very worried. "I was SO upset when I found them..."

I couldn't help it; I burst out laughing.

"Of course, I COULD ask why exactly you might be rummaging through the drawer of one of MY dressers," I said pointedly (after explaining that no, those were NOT my a$$-f***ing DVD's) but the best answer I could get was something like "Well, I was on the phone, and I just started looking through things..."

Uh-huh.

The offending items were securely encased in several layers of old newspaper and deposited in the alley trash-can, beneath the week's accumulation of yogurt containers and coffee-grounds. I offered to sneak down the alley and bury it in someone ELSE's trash, but she said that wouldn't be necessary; just so they weren't laying out right in the open where the garbage-men would be likely to see them. "I mean, what would they THINK?" she asked, and though I was tempted to treat it as a non-rhetorical question, I forbore.

I'd hope this would cure her of rummaging through other people's belongings, but alas, I know better. But all the same...Classic, man. Just classic.