Remember how I mentioned a few columns ago that I have weaned myself off “making new friends?”

It really wasn’t an intentional choice, but came about merely as a means of self-preservation. I still say hello to people, I am always friendly to folks who work behind counters for a living, and I am always — and I mean always — nice to the mailman. He is the one that delivers my paycheck each month.

So just when I thought things were working out for me inside my bubble, I get one simple phone call that drops a bombshell onto that pretty little glass ceiling I had going for myself.

Here’s a little background before I get into the phone call itself.

The caller is the mom of two of The Kid’s friends. They are twins. Fraternal twins is the name, I think, of twins who look nothing alike.

These two boys, and a third friend, were all coming over last Saturday for a hootenanny.  Hanging out all day at our little cubbyhole, spending the night, with plenty of fun afoot. No problem. It was something The Kid was in dire need of.

I went to pick up The Twins and had to “Meet The Mom” before carting them off in my vehicle.

Easily understood, every mom should know where their kids are going and who is going to be supervising.

The boys greeted us at the door and I heard The Mom beckoning for us to come in as she made her way down the long hallway to the front of the house.

Now, I know this woman has to be the same age as me, if not older. Or at least she looks it. Too many days/months/years laying out by the pool may have been an age factor, but she has definitely lost her “youthful glow.”

That, however, did not deter her from wearing an outfit straight off of “Jersey Shore.”

If I was 5 foot 10 or 11 and weighed 90 pounds as “The Mom” did, I might try getting by with the get-up she had on, but probably not.

She immediately led me on a tour of the house, and although the house was indeed wonderful, with 25-foot high ceilings, there were telltale signs that the house was in need of some TLC and major updating.

She still had all the furniture from when she was a younger pup in the early ’80s ... lots of glass and scary fabric ... all of it just kinda ... well ... sad looking.

She was chattering away the entire time I was there, making me dizzy by taking me into all the rooms, watching her brush her hair and put jewelry on, yabbadabbadooing the whole entire time. I knew from my first glance at her that she’d had too much to drink the night before. Takes one to know one, right?

She was in a rush to get out the door and hook up with her sister for lunch — by the pool somewhere, with drinks aplenty no doubt — and I helped the boys load up their bikes into the back of my ride.

She asked what time she was to pick them up later and I said, “They’re staying the night, remember?”

She looked shocked, and then called the taller of the twins back into the house. My guess is that he explained it all to her again, and she came out nodding and waving — she was out of there so fast that her SUV left us in a cloud of dust.

All well and good. The boys had a great time and stayed busy and got worn out and it all worked out really well. “A nice time was had by all.”

So then comes the phone call. Just at the dinner hour.

The phone rings, I picked it up, which I almost never do, and there she was, on the other end, drunk as a stinkin’ skunk.

She immediately launched into her campaign for mayor as she told me that she’d heard from the boys that I had taken The Kid out of the middle school because he’d been bullied, and honey — she was not gonna stand for that! She went on about how she and her husband spent enormous amounts of money in the school district, and how they donated time and materials to the school district, and how she’d called up the principal and lashed at him and called a board member and lashed at him ... how it was intolerable that they would lose a great student like The Kid all because of him being taunted, teased and harassed on a daily basis.

Then she slurred, “I got a ticket today ... $165 for talking on my cell phone while driving ... this has not been a good day...”.

And launched into her diatribe again.

I mean, I had to laugh cause there really wasn’t anything I could say except to thank her for her concern, but that The Kid in no way ever wanted to step foot on that campus again, and her boys were always welcome to come after school and on weekends if they wanted to hang out. She repeated the same conversation several times till she finally started to snore, and then she snapped out of it and said, “I will talk to you tomorrow...”.

I hung up and said, “Please God, no!”

So now I’ve got this fired-up, wild-haired, crazy-fool woman that I don’t even know who wants to fight my fight for me, which I had no intention of ever fighting because the situation cannot be changed.

How did this happen to me?

I did keep my promise to her though, and I sent an email to the principal explaining that I had heard from her, but that as far as I was concerned, the matter was over and done with. The Kid is being home-schooled and that’s it.

I haven’t heard back from the principal yet, but I’m sure he got the same Foster Brooks call that I did.

But the thing is — he has to deal with her.

I don’t.

....she said, as she took a swig of her strawberry daiquiri poolside....