Mothers Day…traditionally the single busiest day in the restaurant business. The special day everyone honors the woman who gave them life. Unless you’re a classless slug you treat her special every day. She’s the one who nursed you when you came into this world. The breastfeeding should really stop before you’re 12. She cleans your bottom and dries your tears when you hurt. She leaves the spanking to dad when she wants you to really hurt. My kids used to steal money off my dresser and dig between the couch cushions for change and put their ill-gotten booty in a jar. On Mother’s Day they’d bring the jar to me and want folding money so they could buy mama a present…with my cash. Father’s Day? Meh…who cares. All he did was sacrifice his health to provide for you. At least, back when there WERE fathers and not (oh, this phrase is so obscene I don’t ever use it) baby daddy. That’s when two sets of hormones meet in a bar, two hours later they’re having sex. The guy puts a notch in his bedpost and moves on to his next conquest. The woman has the baby and gets welfare because the sperm donor is long gone. She didn’t even catch his name or the other men she bore kids by.
It’s a lot of pictures, I know. But you’re worth it.