Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: WEDNESDAY, March 20, 1991 TAG: 9103200417
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-13 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: By Jerry Zezima
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
And why not? Ever since Saddam Hussein (who apparently has the Mother of All Oedipus Complexes) vowed to engage the allies in the aforementioned Mother of All Battles, the phrase has become the Mother of All Metaphors here in the United States.
This dawned on me when I heard Secretary of Defense Dick Cheney refer to the Iraqis' surrender as "the Mother of All Retreats." Then I turned on CNN (suggested slogan: "The Mother of All Networks") and heard a reporter in Saudi Arabia call Gen. H. Norman Schwarzkopf's brilliant news conference "the Mother of All Briefings."
One newspaper even ran the following headline: "Now the Mother of All Problems: What to Do With Saddam Hussein."
Frankly, I'd like to see him sentenced to the Mother of All Hangings, not only for the terrible things he has done, but for coining the Mother of All Annoying Catch Phrases.
Everyone is using it. There is no escape. That became evident the day my car stalled on the way to work. Fearing the worst, I drove to the nearest gas station to find out what was wrong. Upon looking under the hood, the mechanic shook his head and said, "No wonder she keeps conking out. You need the Mother of All Tuneups."
"How much will it cost?" I asked.
After adding it all up on a piece of paper, the mechanic handed me the Mother of All Car Repair Estimates. Immediately I developed the Mother of All Headaches.
By this time, of course, I was having the Mother of All Bad Days. And it didn't get any better. On the way home, I stopped at the barber shop for what was being advertised as the Mother of All Haircuts. Now I look like an also-ran in the Westminster Dog Show.
When I walked in the door, my wife informed me that the washing machine was leaking and that the repairman, who charges $40 an hour, said we had the Mother of All Plumbing Problems. He suggested we buy a new washer at a store that was having the Mother of All Appliance Sales.
After sorting through the mail, which contained the Mother of All Magazine Offers (not to mention the Mother of All Telephone Bills), I was charged with helping the kids with what they whiningly called "the Mother of All Math Homework," which went something like this:
"If Johnny's mother and Mary's mother went shopping at 12:45 and met Joey's mother and Cathy's mother in the mall at 1:15, and they all shopped for three hours, and it took half an hour to drive home, at what time did the mothers get home?"
I rushed to the refrigerator for a can of the Mother of All Beers.
"I know you've had a tough day," my wife said. "So I made you the Mother of All Dinners. I hope you like it."
I had to admit it was delicious, but I just couldn't bring myself to call it the Mother of All Meat Loaf, the Mother of All Mashed Potatoes or even the Mother of All Brussels Sprouts.
This, of course, didn't sit too well with my wife, who complained that she put in the Mother of All Workdays before coming home and slaving over the Mother of All Hot Stoves just so she could make me the Mother of All Dinners.
Naturally I felt guilty, so I offered her the Mother of All Apologies. "You're the Mother of All Wives," I said.
"That's right, Mom," the children chimed in. "And we think you're the Mother of All Mothers."
I had to agree. But I was puzzled. If my wife is the Mother of All Mothers, what does that make her mother? The Mother of the Mother of All Mothers? And what about my mother? Is she the Mother-in-Law of the Mother of All Mothers? Or the Mother of All Mothers-in-Law?
Thanks to Saddam Hussein, this has become a mother of a problem. Frankly, I can't wait until Father's Day.
by CNB