This Sunday, tell Mom you have NO IDEA what she likes, at all.

OK, so, Mother’s Day is Sunday. (Too late to get them cards in the mail now, suckas!) Besides my annual question to the universe — specifically, “How is it that I came to be in charge of making sure my mother-in-law gets a card and a present, when she’s MR. GLEEMONEX’S actual mom?” — I have this year some thoughts on the subject of what does and does not make a good Mother’s Day present, with notes for future reference in re: myself.

Not good presents:
—Jools. Exceptions granted only in the case of a kid making something him- or herself.
—Handbags.
—“Intimate wear.” Oh my.
—Candy (unless it comes from Recchiutti).
—Knickknacks, gewgaws or trinkets.

Good presents:
—Books, either ones you know she’ll like, or a gift certificate. You deserve a large mosquito bite in your most personal regions if you give your mother one of those Oprah-cult type books (the printed equivalent of a king-size super-maxi-pad with deodorizing scent) or a fucking “Chicken Soup” thing.
—Tickets to a baseball game (or something else she is a fan of — YOUR preference should have very little to do with the selection).
—A B&B gift certificate — let her decide whether it’s for herself alone, her and your Dad, her and a friend, her and a “friend,” her and you, her and your sister (who always was the favorite anyway), etc.

General notes:
—When thinking of a gift or planning something for her, try to think of her as your actual mom, a real person with interests and whatnot, instead of the Generic Mom Character in Macy’s ads. Hell, maybe she likes jools and handbags — shouldn’t you know the answer to that by now?
—Don’t ever give your mom something she has to take care of (a pet, a plant more needy than a cactus, anything that needs dusting or polishing) unless she specifically requests it.
—Don’t cause her to have to DO anything to make the day a success — she shouldn’t have to round everybody up to head to a restaurant, or shop and prep for the family BBQ, or wait for your lazy ass to get out of bed at 2:30 p.m. Just please take care of shit, OK?
—Don’t forget it. She may say she doesn’t care about such a bullshit Hallmark holiday, she may even be as curmudgeonly a bitch as I myself am, but deep down, she totally does care — you don’t have to send her on a trip to Paris or anything, but would a card and a phone call kill you?
—Don’t make this the only time you ever acknowledge your mom and tell her you love her, either; she thinks of you every day, so give a little of that back, wouldja?