After years of delaying the inevitable, my mom finally heeded Katie Couric’s advice and scheduled a colonoscopy. She’s put this off for years, but after some prodding from her friends, she finally bit the bullet and made an appointment to have her booty checked out.

Except, unlike the rest of us who would think ANAESTHESIA=DON’T DRIVE HOME, not only did she think she was driving herself home, she had a hair appointment scheduled for this afternoon.

I had my own rear-end examined about 10 years ago. The test was fine but the drugs knocked me flat for the rest of the day.

When she told me her plans at the last minute, I calmly explained that she could not go in for a medical procedure, under anesthesia, with no one in the lobby in case something happened!

Not to be negative but this is the same mom who I accompanied to a blood bank about three years ago so we could donate for a sick friend. She gave blood, ate the cookie, and then passed out cold, nearly going into a full blown seizure. We almost became the accidental stars of ‘Rescue 911′ that day. I was not letting her go up there unattended.

I took her to the clinic this morning, and as soon as we walked in, as always happens when I am with her, the receptionist not only recognized her but said that there were two other girls “in the back” that my mom would also recognize.

We cannot go anywhere without my mom seeing someone she knows.

I’m thinking “oh sh*t,” (pun intended) I would not want to be running into people I know as former clients, in a clinic where they are all about to look up my colon.

Whatever, my mom was seemed totally unphased by this and headed back for her gown and butt photo session.

About thirty minutes later, the nurse came and found me and I went back to the little room where she was hiding behind a curtain on the hospital bed.

“Woooo weeee,” she said, “that was quick!”

“How do you feel,” I asked?

She said, “I feel just fine! That was just too fast. I kind of like those drugs, actually! And they gave me a nice warm blanket to keep me toasty. Are we done already?”

Yep, only my mom would want a colonoscopy to last a little longer.

A few seconds later, the doctor appeared, told my mom her insides were pretty and that we were free to go.

 ”Do I have to leave already,” she said. ”I kind of like it here.”

Right about then, a woman across the hall let out the hugest, longest fart you have ever heard in your life. Now, I know from having this done before, they fill your stomach up with air and afterwards the nurses press on your stomach to get the air out.

There’s just something WRONG about hearing a woman let out a fart like that with only a curtain in between.

I’m sure my husband would have rated her an 11 or 12, using his fart scale I-phone app.

I looked at her and said, “Mom, this is not a hotel where you checked in for the weekend, they need their bed and gown back. But they gave you photos to take home as mementos.”

I think my mom is now addicted to colonscopies and is going to start scheduling them like vacations and spa trips.

If she finds out that they do those tests on cruise ships or in Jamaica, she will be changing careers and Nana will be the new colonoscopy spokesperson.

Katie Couric better look out.

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I waited until the absolute worst possible day to take the kids to the mall for back to school shopping: the Saturday before every child attending public school in Texas starts. Yeah, brilliant, I know.

I didn’t even try to park, headed straight for the valet. I would have paid $50 to not hitchhike from the edge of the mall parking lot. It was easily 100 degrees, and I had, after all, taken the time to put on makeup, just in case I ran into any of my clients out shopping. The last thing I needed was my makeup melting off in the 30 seconds between my car and the mall entrance.

I sent the kids on their way shopping, instructions to not spend one cent over their $100 each budget or everything would be returned, and to call me in an hour.

Since I had time to pass, I decided to walk around the mall.

Walk? Anywhere? Who was I kidding with more people shopping than attending a rock concert. Not a chance.

What is it with people at the mall who walk in groups five across and refuse to let you pass? And then, they STOP, unexpectedly, and you end up nearly doing the Butt Boogie with a stranger. I totally turned into a mall tailgater. MOVE OVER PEOPLE, PLEASE, THIS IS NOT A SUNDAY STROLL!

Thirty minutes later, I heard from the kids. One of the models at Hollister wouldn’t let them use my credit card because Tyler’s ID didn’t match. Guess he doesn’t look Posh enough to be a Shannon R.

I headed off to pay so we could GET OUT THERE before I ended up arrested by the mall police for assaulting some slow walker.

I met Jordan, headed into Hollister, and ran smack into a line of parents waiting to pay. When I say line, I mean LINE, people. This line tangled all the way through that dark, loud store and stopped just short of the entrance to the mall.

For forty minutes we stood there in that cave of a store, unable to hear anything due the blaring music, continuously bumped by their modeliscious workers working. I counted to ten. Took deep breaths. Did I mention I hate, really hate, crowds?

The whole time, I was thinking, ‘this is not concert tickets to see Cold Play. This is 3 shirts and a pair of shorts. And Cold Play tickets would be cheaper. And if one more teeny bopper bumps into me, there’s gonna be a throw down.’

Jordan kept glancing at me like he was saying a silent prayer: ‘please God, get us up there before she really embarrasses me and tackles another parent or a Hollister employee.’

We finally paid, and headed out of the store back into the mall. I couldn’t see anything except stars, and not the Brad Pitt kind, unfortunately. The stars you see when you walk out of a long movie, straight into the bright sun, having just plunked down

All I could think of was, ‘next year, we’re so shopping online, come August. And thank goodness Nana’s a lawyer. Just in case.’

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