I firmly believe that my mother is a spy. Not the run of the mill, garden variety snoop, but a hard core, James Bond-rivaling agent of intrigue and defender of national security. Not only did she have eyes in the back of her head, but there were other clues to tip me off, as well.

Mom always knew what I had plotted to do, even before I'd done anything. When I was a teenager, heading out the door to my friend's house where we conspired to stay up all night making prank phone calls and watching the forbidden "R" rated movies, she would forewarn, "behave yourself" or "don't even think about it." How did she know?

Obviously, she could read my face. Randomly, during the school year, she would ask if my grades were good -- to which I would always respond in the affirmative. "Look me in the eyes," she would say. Oh no, not the eyes! It was a truth serum no one could deny. My teenage subterfuge tactics were no match for her all knowing eyes. I, predictably, spent the remainder of the semester studying in my room.

Clearly, she had completed a detailed regimen of specialized training. She was accomplished at her craft; the best in her field. Whenever a toy broke in our house, mom knew how to fix it (High-tech Gadgetry Repair 101). The picture in her High School annual didn't even resemble her (obviously, a master of disguise). And, she apparently had instruction as a Quick-Change artist. In the blink of an eye, she could progress from point A: making breakfast for the family while still in her bathrobe and sporting pink foam curlers hair curlers, to point B: dressed to the nines and ready to leave the house for church.

Her stealth-mode capabilities annoyed me most. The minute I divulged a deep, dark secret to my best friend, there she was, out of nowhere. Never mind the fact that she spoke in unbreakable code to her "friends" on the telephone, but she hid Christmas presents so even foreign intelligence satellites couldn't locate them.

The guilt glare topped her repertoire. Presumably, a secret bio-chemical compound tainted her searing stare, rendering me helpless to its power. Even the strongest of super heroes would fold under the pressure. Confessions spilled out of me, before I even had a chance to think.

Her extra sensory perception spanned space and time. While I was away at college (300 miles from home), she somehow knew I was living on junk food, leaving my dirty clothes on the floor, and staying up too late gabbing with my roommate, prompting me to sweep the dorm room for listening devices.

Received from FranCMT2.

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