I used to just sigh lovingly – my heart overflowing – when my son, as a small tot, would look up at me with big brown eyes in all his cuteness and ask, “Mommy, can I marry you when I grow up?” I remembered my mother saying my brother used to ask the same thing of her when he was little…I hope.
But never, everrr, did I remember hearing my son say, “Mommy, can I BE you when I grow up?”
I’m going to start watching, now, which of my sexy slingbacks are slithering silently from my shoe shelf. Apparently, a mama-wanna-be in New York posed as his dead mother to collect on her social security and rent subsidies.
Creepy is as creepy does….and the Mommy Master got away with it for six years…and he looked damn good doing it! He had a great mani and pedi, Pink Posey lip gloss…the works. Gives “mama’s boy” a whole new meaning, doesn’t it? Obviously, the FBI took awhile to notice his unibrow and adams apple the size of a hard-boiled egg on steroids. And all the Mary Kay in the world wouldn’t tame that hair lip in just the right light.
It was one thing to impersonate his mother, but this guy actually came to believe the ruse – believing he actually was her. When taken into custody, he claimed he was with her when she was dying and that he “breathed in her last breath.”
I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. Now it’s getting Norman Bates creepy. And he would have gotten away with it, except he got greedy and tried to sue his son…I mean himself – for forging a title with her…I mean his…signature – claiming his property was illegally sold by her…I mean him.
I’m feeling a Weekend at Bernies sequel coming down the pike…
Note to self: Have talk with son. The bedazzled taupe Manalos are off limits…