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Mother Knows Best

My mom loves to give advice. Not on my big stuff - she never uttered a peep about who I should marry, what I might do for a living or which house to buy. My mother is more the here's-what-you-need-to-do-with-your-hair type of adviser.
Mom also has a knack for health advisories. Don't go outside with wet hair unless you want pneumonia. Don't sit on the cold pavement or you'll get hemorrhoids. Stay off the phone during thunderstorms or a streak of lightning will speed through miles of cable and zap you dead in the centre hallway.
Momisms have little basis in fact and absolutely no historical precedent (well, maybe the phone thing does).
They're grounded in the theory that a mother is entitled to give advice because she is the Mom. Those are all the credentials she needs.
My life has been steeped in momisms. Early in childhood, it became excruciatingly clear to us, four kids, that our mother knew a lot of really unfortunate guys. These hapless fellows fueled a great many momisms related to totally-their-own-fault tragedies - which she described in a voice most people use to tell ghost stories around a campfire.
If we were tipping back on the hind legs of a chair, Mom told us about the man who did the same thing, fell, broke his neck and was paralyzed for the rest of his very short life.
If we tossed a kernel of popcorn in the air and caught it in our mouths, Mom told us about the guy she knew who did the very same thing and choked to death.
In adolescence came the dating momisms, designed to keep us forever sorting socks on Saturday nights.
First, the Ladies Don't momisms: Ladies don't chew gum. Ladies don't whistle. Ladies don't forget to KYLC (Keep Your Legs Crossed).