Fat Bottomed Girl

The other night Mom was asking for morphine and talking about how she thought her time to die was drawing near. She didn’t want to crochet. She didn’t want to watch The Game Show Network. She didn’t want anything to eat, not even a cupcake. We knew something was wrong.

I asked if she’d like to listen to any music.

“YES!” she said.

“What would you like to listen to?” I asked.

“Bohemian Rhapsody!” she said, instantly, as if it had been on the tip of her tongue all day.

Will began spinning Queen’s “Greatest Hits.” Mom grabbed my hand as I sat next to her chair. She squeezed it. She’s become more affectionate in her old age. While the song played, Mom subtly bobbed her head up and down like someone who is awfully agreeable.

When the next song, “Another One Bites the Dust,” began to play, Mom’s free hand shot up, her mouth turned into a frown, and she sliced her hand through the air horizontally as if to say, “Nuh nuh nuh nuh no!”

“You don’t like this one?” I asked.

Mom flared her nostrils like something stinks.

The next song, “Killer Queen” got Mom’s head bobbing in approval once again.

Next was, “Fat Bottomed Girls.” Another head bobber.

Later that evening my sister, Jenny, and my brother-in-law, Brian, visited. They asked what was up, and I said, “Oh, we’re just sitting here listening to “Bohemian Rhapsody” and “Fat Bottomed Girls.”

They both laughed. 

Let me stop you here. 

Part of the reason this anecdote is so funny is because my mom looks nothing like the type of person you’d think is a fan of rock n roll in general and Queen specifically. Mom was born at the end of the Great Depression and was a young girl during World War II. Her family got a TV when she was 12. They were the first family on the block to get one of those newfangled contraptions. Mom went to dances in high school in the 1950s. She did not like Elvis Presley. She and her friends used to drink malts and giggle over jokes like this:

Did you know Elvis the Pelvis has a twin? His name’s Enis.

Mom’s record collection was comprised of mostly musical soundtracks such as “South Pacific” and easy listening soloists such as Barbra Streisand. 

Then, in the Seventies, likely while paring apples from our backyard to bake a pie, Mom heard the song, “Bohemian Rhapsody” on KKJO, the popular radio station that one of my older siblings was always listening to. Mom loved it so much she went out and bought the album, “A Night at the Opera,” on eight track tape. Mom had a portable eight track player she kept in the kitchen so she could play “her” music while the big kids were at school and I was in the living room watching Roosevelt Franklin and the gang on “Sesame Street.”

Much later Mom admitted to me she had no idea that Freddie Mercury was a bisexual man. “I didn’t even know he was a MAN. His voice is so high. I just thought Freddie was short for Frederica.”

Mercury’s gender and sexual identity didn’t stop Mom’s love of Queen. They’re still one of her favorite bands. 

Back in our living room, Mom was directing everyone where to sit. 

“Jenny, you sit here. Brian, go over there. Will, no, over here, no, hold on, over THERE...”

For some reason I ended up on the commode. It had been temporarily moved directly in front of Mom’s recliner, in front of the white board Mom used to keep track of what day it is and what events are upcoming.

We all got to talking, and laughing, and trying to get serious again, and talking and laughing some more.

Mom held the crowd like the grand matriarch of the family she has become. We couldn’t understand half of what she was saying, but the other half was extremely entertaining.

Someone said something about what day is Super Bowl Sunday. Without batting an eye, Mom craned her neck around and said, “If Becky would move her fat bottomed girl out of the way I could see the calendar.”

I almost peed my pants laughing so hard. Good thing I was on the commode.