Last night, after screening her calls for weeks, I picked up the phone and dealt with my mother. We made awkward small talk for a moment and then she apologized for the fact that I was “so uptight” at Christmas.

Yes, this was the woman’s apology.

For those of you who missed my Christmas Diaries, basically the woman was a nagging, bigoted, deranged mentalcase for five days, annoying me, my two children and my ex-husband to high heaven. She made racist remarks. She second-guessed everything I did. She nagged and cajoled and criticized me  and wouldn’t leave me in peace for five minutes. By the end, she was nagging and cajoling my kids and refusing to leave them in peace.

“I’m sorry you were so uptight at Christmas.”

I managed to stop my head from exploding. Yes, I was heated, but when I pointed out all the things she had done to me and the kids to make us ALL uptight for five days, she called me a liar and said I had made it all up. I made up that she called me a bitch in front of my daughter, for example. Never happened! I made up that she boasted to the kids about hating “Orientals.” I made up finding her snooping through my daughter’s purse. Again, none of it ever happened!

This is classic Hagatha. My siblings and I have been told for as long as we can remember that we lie about her and make up stories about our childhood and beyond. We are just three pathological liars who for no reason whatsoever have been lying about her all our lives.

This is when I lost it. I told her she cannot take criticism without calling people liars and moving into her big martyr routine, and it’s like dealing with a 12-year-old. I told her she has constantly driven her children and her late husband insane for her entire life, and she knows it, and does she ever ask herself: “Could it be me? Am I the problem?”

She hissed: “Nice talking to you” and hung up. What a crazy old asshole.

p.s. The weird thing is? In her day, my mother resembled Joan Crawford, while I resembled that little blond kid there.