Numero Uno in a series of guest posts authored by those willing to share snippets of their own madness.  Enjoy!(ITALIAN LESSON: Guest of honor = ospite d’onore)
 

I had a humble upbringing. I wouldn’t say we were poor, even though dinner often consisted of one vegetable, usually beans, and a slice of buttered white bread, the kind that never seemed to go stale. But if the Middle Class were a train, my family would have been clinging for dear life off the back of the caboose.

All this is by way of introduction to what my mother did, so many years ago, on a rare occasion when we actually had dessert. A neighbor, who was several train cars ahead of us in the economy, dropped off a freshly baked pumpkin pie and a can of some new-fangled cream in a can called Reddi Wip.

Mom wanted the pie to last a while, so she cut out one-inch slivers for each of us and handed the can of Reddi Wip to my father, who shook the can furiously for several minutes before sputtering foamy cream all over his slice until it disappeared. My brother did likewise, followed by me and my sister. Finally, the can was passed to my Mom, who dutifully upended it and pressed the nozzle, only to hear not a cream-filled sputter, but an airy Pffft.

The can was empty.

At first I thought she was going to scream. Then I thought she was going to cry, her expressions changing by the second. Finally, a look of calm determination came across her face. She slowly pushed back her chair and went to the kitchen doorway, where we had a wall-mounted can opener. She upended the can, inserted it into the can opener, pressed down on the lever, and started to give the crank a turn.

And the rest is history.

I’ve seen a lot of I Love Lucy shows and know how wonderful Lucille Ball was at “comedy takes,” but I think for one brief moment my mother was her equal as she stood there, covered from chest to forehead in whipped cream.

About our guest author: Len Boswell was born in a hospital that has since been torn down, and grew up in a house that has since changed its number, on a street that has since changed its name. Everywhere around him his life seems to be erasing itself. Before the erasure is complete, he spends his time on both sides of the publishing equation, managing a small press by day and writing whenever possible. He is still wary of Reddi Wip.

Pfffft! Read more and head on back to Madness home page: www.madnessmomandme.com