All bets are off. Watch out!
We’re all at my sister’s house, for Father’s Day. My nice sister has a pool. A beautiful, in-ground pool, and every time I see it, I wonder why the hell we don’t live next door to her. But I digress. My mother is wading in the shallow end, while Henry splashes about with his father. I’m sitting on the edge, dangling my legs into the pool. My mother, who feels it is her duty to evaluate my appearance on a regular basis, is glaring at my toes. She considers neglect of one’s parts not only ill-advised but immoral, and here is evidence of my lapsed spirituality--bits of nail polish clinging for dear life to my neglected tootsies. She’s clutching my foot, menacing my poor toes like she could frighten them into enameled, manicured perfection.
Her [disgusted]: It’s a shitty color.
Me: Gee, thanks. I liked the color.
Her: I can’t wear pink. Pink looks terrible on me.
Me: Yeah, see, these aren’t your toes.
Her: Pink. Horrible.
Me: I know. You like to wear gold, or whatever, but’s that not me.
Her [offended]: I do not wear gold. My toes are painted pearl white.
She hoists a leg out of the water and thrusts her foot into my face, just as Henry announces that he needs me. A few minutes later, order is restored, and we’re all back to our original positions.
Her: I can’t believe you said my toes were gold.
Me: You’re upset about that? You called my toes shitty.
Her: I did not say shitty. I would not say shitty to you. I said crappy.
Yeah, I know, it’s not much of a story. It more or less sums up all that confounds me about the woman, is all, and I swore I wouldn’t use my blog to write about my family, but here I am, doing it. Anyway, rules are made to be broken, and me, I’m a rule-breaker. I am dangerous.










June 21, 2004
Reader Comments (28)
I don't think I'll ever quite grasp why tearing a person's sense of competence to shreds is so crucial to their well-being, but I guess I'll figure it out by the time it's my turn to wreak this on the Jellybean.
Actually, for years I thought I was the crazy, bad, malicious girl who made things up, until she finally did it in front of witnesses who backed me up.
But I do get the "subtle" grooming hints from my mom in other areas. Mostly about wearing slips. Somehow that's The Key to Skirtwearing, as far as she's concerned. Well, maybe I don't mind that my skirt is totally transparent when I stand in front of a window. I'll avoid the window. There, all better.
Try this one...
"Well, Mom... you're in luck. I hear that once a week they have volunteers that give free pedicures AT THE NURSING HOME!"
And I love it when she is wearing a hideous outfit and tells me that mine isn't "flattering"or that I need to smile more or Don't you think you should wear pantyhose with that? (no, or I would have worn them)The list is endless.............
Only my mom can bring me to that level of frustration.....
I kind of get the impression that the mothers talked about on this comment thread are all 1950's/1960's generation mothers, though, whereas mine started being a mother in 1981. Do you think this kind of behavior might be generational? Because I've noticed that my grandmother, who did most of her parenting in the '50's, is very critical of the appearance of her female granddaughters, almost like we have to be spic and span so she can sell us on the marriage market, or to goblins, or something. She reminds me of bad legends about gipsies.
My grandmother, though... She doesn't ever say anything bad, but she's always touching my hair, or feeling the fabric of my skirt, or something - she's way more interested in that stuff than my parents are. So you may be on to something. (I am pretty sure Alice's mom is of the same generation as mine, though.)
My grandmother, though... She doesn't ever say anything bad, but she's always touching my hair, or feeling the fabric of my skirt, or something - she's way more interested in that stuff than my parents are. So you may be on to something. (I am pretty sure Alice's mom is of the same generation as mine, though.)
a) Remember that "Mad About You" episode where she was complaining about how easily her parents pushed her buttons?
"Of course, they installed them."
b) Chrysler used to sell a van in a color that my wife thought was hideous. She called the color "XXX's mom's fingernails." It was some variant of gold.
So I will only say this: I know. Oh, how I know.
Okay and I'll also say this because I just recently had this talk with my mother.
I'll talk about something troubling or concerning me.
She replies with a long drawn out story about how something so similar happened to her and she dealt with it in this really emotionally healthy way and, you know, she just GOT OVER IT and there's this big subtext in the middle of the room that I pretend not to see.
"Why, oh why, can't my daughter be emotionally healthy and just GET OVER IT."
Also there's the weight comments.
"Well, you used to be just ridiculously skinny and now, you're just a little more than the average person."
Is this therapy? Because I feel like I'm in therapy and I could really use a tissue.
Hard candy shells have two problems with them, from what I've seen. The first one is that they frequently cause you to be an asshole, so you end up pulling the same crap on other, less powerful, people that was pulled on you. The second is that hard candy shells are still hiding a very hurt person, who over time has been so pummeled into mush that it has to erect hard candy around it. That's not a better way of dealing with mean people; just a different one.
*shrugs* My two cents.
Oh, and you should see how distinguished looking I am now that I am getting older and have some grey hairs coming in. At the temples, of course.
Oh, I am?
Huh. Mom always said I was a weird one.
And back on topic... my mom never really did any of that. Not with a glaring frequency, anyways. I hope I don't have it to look forward to.
Oh, and she LOVES to pull the 'I did not say that' trick.
I swear that I've had this argument about 'you said x' with my mother so many times and I always think "Maybe she's right? Maybe she didn't say that?" Can I now assume I'm right because you blogged on it and there is so much daughterly confirmation here?
Or must we assume that we all imagine things?
So, after I haven't seen him in months, the first thing out of his mouth is invariably "Oh, looks like you've put on some weight".
Thanks dad, it's good to see you too.