Friday, September 14, 2012

Mother's Day Revelations....(NF)


I wonder idly, why am I the way I am… why am I so bitchy, sardonic, and beyond sarcastic most of the time.  Its mother’s day and I want to be a good daughter, amenable and compliant, but everything I utter has a brief hint of disdain… as I dress my mother walks in my room and starts asking questions only appropriate for a clairvoyant.
IE: Do you think the theater will be full? Do you think it’ll be busy?  Do you think we’ll make it to the movie on time? Do you think we’ll get good seats?  I don’t want to go if we don’t have good seats, I just wonder if it’ll be busy.  She keeps repeating herself fishing for my point of view on the situation.  Apparently trying to go to the movies as a family is a “situation”. 
And then my mother says, “You know what I really wonder… I wonder if you can have a nicer shirt than that.” She points to what I’m wearing, looks me up and down.  Then I realize, there it is, why I am how I am.  Always do the exact opposite of what my mother deems appropriate, always try to go against the grain for a reaction or to get a rise out of her.  If I agitate you, will you still love me, if I don’t do as you ask, will you still love me, if I question every choice you make, will you still love me???? 
I enjoy doing my make-up and straightening my hair.  I’m not much for styling my hair because I was never really taught.  I was never taught how to use make-up either.  As a teen I was told, “You’re not one of those girls who can go out without make-up, you need it every day, just face it and that will make things a lot easier.” My only response was, “I do wear make-up everyday and…”  Then I’m cut off, “No you don’t.  I see you slop that shit on in the car and you need to give yourself time in the morning.”  My mother’s a real piece of work now that I can think about it but as a 14 year old girl seeking to always please her mother, I was crushed.  The entire car ride to school I choked back tears not wanting to get yelled at for crying as well.  As a result I don’t do my make-up very often.  If I happen to do my make-up and blow out my hair it’s a rare occasion.  Once I hear a compliment from my mom or even a single syllable about my appearance I’m left fighting the urge to wash off my make-up and spray water on my hair to ruin water style I may have at that moment.  My mothers, “You look nice, you should do that more often” is like a twist of the knife that my heart was stabbed with as a teen and remains there to this day.