Stella, Peg and Mom
Thanksgiving 2007, Portland
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Today's last minute grocery list:
-Ant traps
-Booze
-Flowers
-Spray Bottle
-Vinegar
-Fire Starters
That's exactly the list Mom gave me. Sounds like a Holiday with the Adams Family. -
Mom: I just want you to know I picked up your dog's poop today. (grossed-out face, tongue sticking out).
Me: You walked her? That's great, thanks. Wait, haven't you always picked up after her?
Mom: No, I never told you that. I always left it, acted like I didn't see her doing it. It was France, no body cares.
Me: Well, this is Oregon, you have to pick up!
Mom: I know, so I did. It's in your kitchen garbage.
Me: What??! (grossed-out face, tongue sticking out) -
Mom has arrived! In less than 24 hours she managed to:
-comment on the size of my breasts, the shape of my eyebrows and the 'cuteness' level of my butt.
-find the only dusty spot in the house. Who wipes down the top of the refrigerator?
-use more toilet paper than is allotted the average Ukranian village in a month.
-spread debris through out my previously tidy house, including balled-up kleenex, empty cigarette packages, boating magazines, gloves, and what looks like a personal support garment.
-insult my television. Can appliances have hurt feelings?
-wear a red "Wisconsin" sweatshirt, momentarily throwing me back into 1991.
-out-crass the crassest person I know.
-make dinner of an unidentifiable meat package left in my freezer since move in day.
Oh Mom, so glad to have you here! -
Before/After
The house is nearly complete, the spiffing up as far as it's going to get before the family arrives. The spare room got the biggest make over…
Still didn't manage to make that much room in the closets, and the storage space is overflowing…nothing worse than having the extra room to store stuff I no longer need…I wonder what is in those boxes way in the back anyway?
Before/After
Before/After -
Only a week left until M-Day, when Mom arrives to spend Nov, Dec, and part of Jan with me. In my rush to get the house spiffed up, I've neglected to consider the number of people coming for Thanksgiving, expecting to enjoy a hearty holiday meal, and not expecting to sit on the ground to do it. There will be 5 1/2 of us (including my 3 year old niece, the half in that number) and my little kitchen table barely seats 4 for grilled cheese.
I also just remembered that my brother will be bunking here, and if he's to sleep on the couch, I'm short a blanket. BYOB?
It was suggested that Mom and I bunk together, giving Tom the single bed in the study. But that's just not happening. I pre-paid a pedicure appointment for Mom so I don't have to give her a foot rub (sticking her feet in my face, 'here, rub my feet'. Sure mom, but can I finish my Wheaties first?), I'm surely not going to let her crawl into bed with me. I love Mom, but she farts. And then giggles. And then asks if I can smell it.
I'm sure they are all here to see me and enjoy the warm company of family, but in my heart I know they will leave thinking "Can you believe all the dining chairs didn't match?", "I see she didn't get the curtain rods hung in time, her life must be a mess" and "Who serves pumpkin pie indian style on the floor?" -
A few ideas for replying to the too-often asked "Are you married"?
I had a husband, but I killed him, that's why I'm here at the paint store buying a plastic tarp. Have a nice day!
No, I prefer to sleep with other people's husbands. Is yours busy today?
Not anymore, I sold him on E-Bay. Shipping was a bitch.
Yes, but I'm the second wife. He and I and his other three wives live in a trailer on the edge of town. -
I have anxiety about having to make small talk with the technician when having a manicure. Here I am, spoiled beyond reason with the extra dough and time for such a luxury as a bi-monthly manicure. I have no family to keep me home tethered to the washer and dryer, so I work 6 days a week instead, and take home a healthy salary to spend on only myself. I live like 1% of the planet.
And all I can think is, what a hassle this is to have to talk to this person I don't really want to talk to, for no reason other than I talk to strangers for a living and I'm tired of it today. I feel like a horrible, stupid, wretched person who doesn't deserve what she's got and should be hung by her pretty fingernails for being so unkind to a perfect stranger just trying to do her job in a friendly manner.
Then the technician opens with "Are you married?".
WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP ASKING ME THAT? NO NO and NO, I'm not married, I don't have kids, I'm about to turn 35 and CAN'T WE PLEASE FIND SOMETHING ELSE TO TALK ABOUT!?!?!
I don't feel so bad about it afterall.
