why I want to be my mom

We are best friends. We have a uniquely dynamic relationship. Yadda yadda.

Mushy stuff aside, she is freaking hilarious.

Let me explain the current situation: My mom and her client/my mom #2, Naomi, just called me. All they want to talk about is my love life. It's all they ever want to talk about. Ever. (Oh, and, as they are calling me my mother is in fact training her. It's a wonder Naomi still pays for her services.)

Naomi, my mother and I are three generations of hilarity and muscles. We work out together, we gossip entirely too often, we BBM each other and we even shared a romantic mexican meal at Holy Frijoles. Who would've thought that age differences could matter so little.

Anyway, they keep switching the phone back and forth between each other, not allowing me to get a word in edgewise. It sounds a little something like advice, splashed with some lecturing and some sarcastic sexual comments sprinkled on top.

Every few seconds I am brought back to reality that my mother is actually doing her job (personal trainer) because I hear sentences like this intermittently:

Naomi: It's too heavy.

Kris: No it's not. Shut up and do three more.

.... or ...

Naomi: Hold on Sammi, your mom is about to throw a six-pound ball at my head.

Oh and last but not least, my final piece of advice compliments of Naomi included something about having an orgy. What do I hear next? My mother laughing in the background.

Guess she had no protest.

God I love the women in my life.