Las Wednesday I wore my mother's favorite skirt from 1982. Though I've been told I own more flattering pieces of clothing, I still insist on wearing it because I think it's happy and comfortable and IT HAS POCKETS, BIG DEEP POCKETS and it's all cotton-y and flow-y and shit.
I have to add that I continue to wear it even after my mother paid me $200 to NEVER WEAR IT AGAIN. I once wore it to a family outing, after which a very lengthy conversation ensued where she first tried to get me into a mall for a shopping expedition and second, give me money for a future shopping expedition. All of which I turned down. Because I hate shopping. Especially for clothes. And so it finally came out that she thought I looked LIKE A FUCKING BAG LADY in her old skirt and would give me the aforementioned moola to pitch it in the trash.
I, of course, refused.
So after much arguing (me, in defense of the skirt; she, in defense of the eyes of the human race) we agreed to the following transaction:
In exchange for monetary hand-out, I was to only wear the skirt on Wal-Mart trips. Because it's okay to look white trash while in Wal-Mart. But I was to never, repeat NEVER, wear the skirt in an attempt to be "cute," "fashionable," or "hip." And I was certainly never permitted to wear the skirt to work, being as how my mother was concerned my superiors would think I had wondered in off the street.
And so it is a testimony to the powers of motherhood that, though she is 200 miles away, she called me on Wednesday to ask IF I HAD BEEN WEARING HER SKIRT TO WORK.
If Mommyhood gives you these kind of bizarre pychic powers I may have rethink my budding desire for rugrats.
That or I need to get her hookup in the network of Mommy Spies.
14 comments:
i'm trying to picture a skirt that could be that offensive. all i can come up with is a crazy ass patchwork quilt looking skirt i saw some old broad wearing at the supermarket umpteen years ago. but seriously... it's that bad that it causes a disturbance between good and evil, and your mother senses this and calls you... yeah, you gotta keep that thing around.
Mothers have spies and assassins...
...and night vision goggles.
She's got a tracking device woven into that particular piece of clothing that sets off an alarm in her mommy-radar whenever that item moves further than 5 feet away from your closet.
Besides how bad can it be?
Dude, I'm am totally, dead-set freaked out by your Mum.
Yep, mine's physic AND she had eyes in the back of her head.
They are all witches......some may be good, Glenda witches, but still witches. It's like they know all.
My mom just called to tell me to stop refering to her as a witch. I should have known.
A - I don't understand your mother's aversion to that skirt. I, actually, really like that skirt on you. I mean that.
B - Your mom is scary, yo. Not in that "scary" way, but in that your mom has a sixth sense way. I LOVE your momma like my own, but when I sit beside her I feel like she's pulling Jedi mind tricks.
C - Having said that I love your momma like my own, I can say this: Ummmm, your momma's a smart lady, birdie, why hasn't she thought to steal her skirt back to T-town??? Thus insuring that you can never wear said skirt again??
That story is just lovely. I enjoyed it immensely.
I don't think you can join the Mother Spy Network until you squeeze something the size of a watermelon through an opening the size of a small lemon.
That's their initiation.
Holy crap I think I just pissed myself reading this. I am so happy I stumbled across your blog today. Between the skirt and your tales of the laundromat I'm ruined for the rest of the day. There will be no working for this girl for the rest of the afternoon.
My mom tried the same tactic to get me to stop wearing her skirts. I didn't give in either. STAY STRONG!
stay strong indeed.
More importantly, write something. I need more, more, MORE!!!!!
Where did you go, pet?
Me thinks the mommy power has much to do with the fact that we are a product of them, and when they know the bad things we are doing, it is often because they did, or have the desire to do those very same things.
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