Oh for god's sake. I have done nothing but express willingness to do whatever activity or fall in with any plan and when I said I would be happy to not have a major expedition to do something downtown I was just agreeing with what my mom said. But now she's acting all bitter that we have not tasted the fruits of downtown.
But when we do something like that my dad freaks out with his unwillingness to stand in a line or be in a crowd. I think he has a serious phobia problem and can't admit it. Whenever we considered a restaurant or even the ice cream place he would start to get all gruff and refuse to go into the ice cream place "if there was a line". Much ado and consternation when there were 4 people in front of us. How does he grocery shop? I bet he goes outside and smokes while my mom is in the checkout lane.
this morning:
Mom: You know how B1ll C0sby said this thing about bl@ck 'youth'....
Me: Um. Yeah I know what you are talking about.
Mom: *with great self-satisfaction* Well. _I've_ been saying the SAME THING for YEARS. Years! _AND_.. let me just ADD... that...
Me: Oh, god.
*I leave the room abruptly and run up the stairs*
I'm reaching the limits of my tolerance... there's a prickly feeling like my mom is about to explode... I've nicely discussed fashions and styles and decorators and wood panelling vs. white paint and couch-covering and stuff... but I have not lived up somehow... "in YOUR house you COULD do x and y and z and if you'd just THINK about it a little bit you'd see that that would be SO MUCH BETTER." "Hmmm, maybe so. We're not really settled in all the way yet. it's still being unpacked and stuff." "And if you'd DRESS your AGE you could look nice, you know. you don't HAVE to look like..... this. *dripping with scorn* " "I like how i dress and i'm comfortable..." "But you could look NICE. It's ridiculous." and so it goes... she avoided doing it for a day and a half, and i was grateful...
and I have a yucky creepy feeling like my skin is crawling and I want to wear lots of pants. I'm in my cute plaid skirt again but my exposed thighs feel... dirty and bad and disapproved-of and frowned at... i'm sorry to whine... I do have a point of cracking and here I am on the brink of it... my dad hates my tank tops even though they have a built-in bra and are black and don't show anything... I've transgressed horribly by having a friend and leaving the palisades... mailing myself a box of books is considered an insurmountable problem and an unbelievable waste of money, and pointless, and I should just visit more in order to see them, as if my junior high yearbooks and piano sheet music are being held hostage or something...
christ, we're just leaving for an hour and a half for lunch!
Comments