Happy Mother F**k'in Mother's Day

Waking up on a holiday weekend in NYC one can't help but feel filled with potential. There's the potential that the trains won't be running, there will only be one employee working at Bakeway, or, if you're lucky, your street will be filled with vendor carts selling scarves, phone cases, and fried dough. Mother's Day is no exception to the NYC holiday vortex however having my mom in from Florida felt like a risk worth taking.

Allowing us to avoid the Mother's Day brunch bonanza, we were invited up to Washington Heights for a home cooked meal with my closest friends. My mom and I woke up, made a berry bowl, and dressed in our best casual yet thoughtful Gap outfits and began the commute over the river and through the woods to the Heights. Somehow preoccupied I manage to get us on a D train instead of an A train and we end up going express to the Bronx- an amateur move that is quickly corrected by boarding a downtown train. My mother and I get seats on the fairly crowded car and settle in for the long ride back to where we started. Suddenly there is a gravelly loud voiced woman asking for money and sharing her sotry at the back of the train car. Now I know what you are thinking- duh. This is a common occurrence on any train, going anywhere, any time in our fair city.

I had never encountered this woman before, nor had I encountered the crater on her forehead revealing muscles and bone beneath. Her story involved losing 300 lbs, having cancer, and a sundry of other issues she wanted to share in an attempt to gain our sympathy and financial support.
As she approached I felt quite certain my yellow head band, purple dress, and the saran wrapped bowl of fresh berries on my lap would make me a prime target. But I am no map carrying, picture taking, teva wearing tourist. I was ready. Or so I thought...

Biggest Loser Panhandler Lady: Excuse me, do you have any money?
Me:(attempting to avoid eye and crater contact) No, sorry.
BLPH: You're a cunt. You're going to get hurt. You deserve it. Someone is going to hurt you.

Really?? A cunt?? I am having a hard time even typing that word. And yet, this total stranger felt in a position to call me one? The C word doesn't even occur in movies or reality television. Other than a classic, "I cunt hear you" British theatre joke, I am not sure I had ever heard the word aloud before.

My mom did what any sensible mother would do...acted like she didn't know me and avoided eye contact with both the sailor mouthed panhandler and her only daughter. When the woman completed her prophecy of my inevitable and deserved demise she wandered toward the doors of the train car while being verbally assaulted by another passenger. Once the homeless woman took her leave, the victorious passenger wished everyone "A Happy Mother Fuckin Mother's Day!", received a round of applause, and was content with her good deed for the remainder of the ride.

Feeling safe and sound on our downtown D train, my mother finally looked at me with a smile on her face and said, "Better you than me." I couldn't help but agree and think to myself, there's nothing that warms the heart like watching a mad woman call your daughter a cunt on Mother's Day.