Missing My Mom? I Just Turn To Judge Judy

Last night when I was home alone, I switched on the projector (AKA our TV, currently, except the picture takes up an entire wall) and Freeview box to channel surf.  When John's not around, my main hobby indulgence is channel surfing (that and eating copious amounts of Mr. Kipling cakes, reading trashy magazines, and leaving a trail of crap behind me wherever I go).  I was feeling a little homesick (even though my parents are due in next weekend) so I was quite pleased to see a Judge Judy marathon happening on a random channel.  I curled up on the couch just in time for the familiar few bars of Beethoven's 5th (grossly distorted for the purposes of daytime television) and the voiceover announcing, "The people are real.  The cases are real.  The rulings are final.  This is her courtroom [which has evidently, according to Wikipedia, since been removed].  This is ... JUUUUDDGE JUDY."  Then the Baliff, "Byrd"'s voice calling for order in the court ... I know it all like the back of my hand.  Why?  Because my mother watches it religiously. 

"Don't touch the VCR!" she shouted at me when I went home last Christmas, my index finger poised over the power button.  "Why?"  I asked, turning around very slowly.  "I'm recording Judge Judy.  You can't change any channels.  Otherwise it wipes it."  "Ugh," I said.  "What am I supposed to do while you teach for 4 hours straight?  Why don't you get Tivo or something?"  But she's already walked away.

I have vague memories of my mom watching The People's Court, back in the day.  But not with as much dedication as she gives to Judge Judith Sheindlin - a fast talking, withering-glare-giving, Brooklyn-accented, Jewish, generally intensely frightening small claims court judge who stars in her own TV show and whose one-liner gems include the phrases, "Don't pee on my leg and tell me it's raining" or "Do I have stupid written on my forehead?" whilst simultaneously lifting up tufts of hair to illustrate her point.  The receivers of this abuse tend to be deadbeat dads, con men/women, or generally anyone Judge Judy deems "stupid" (which happens to be a lot of people).

My mom loves this.  Probably because she's a lot like Judge Judy herself (or wants to be).   For all her bark, her bite isn't that bad, and Judge Judy prides herself on handing down swift justice in an intelligent yet showbiz-zy manner.  She reprimands women who loan extortionate amounts of money to scummy boyfriends, only to come in and tearfully sue when they break up and the boyfriend has used the money to buy his new ho-bag of a fiancee an engagement ring.  You know, that kind of stuff.

"Jaime!" my mom calls down the stairs.  "JAIMMMMMMMMMEEEEEEEE!!!" she shrieks for a second time when I've ignored not heard her.  "WHAT?" I scream back (our house is sooo civil.  I told my parents for a LONG time that we should install an intercom system to make communication a little less ... shouty).  "COME AND WATCH JUDGE JUDY WITH MEEEE!!!" she shouts.  I appear at the bottom of the stairs. "I'm kind of ... working on something," I say, all cagey.  "Come onnnnnn ..." she says, doing a don't-hurt-your-mommy's-feelings pout.  I sigh.  "Okay, fine," I say.  "Yay!" she says, delighted as I head up the stairs and dutifully into her bedroom.  "Now," she says, arranging the blankets on her bed just so.  "Watch this first one.  Doesn't his face look bad?"  "What do you mean, mom, by 'look bad'?"  "Well, you can just tell he's up to no good already.  Before he even speaks!"  I sigh again.  "Mom, why don't you let Judge JUDY be the judge."  "SHHHHHHH!!! IT'S STARTING!!!" she shushes me with her hand.

And so on, and so forth.

So that's why I reach for the remote when I seek comfort.  All I really need is a good dose of verbal abuse.

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