My Mom

I think the time has come to explain a couple of things. Mainly, who to blame for what I have become. My mother. I feel comfortable pinning it on her. My lack of fashion sense must truly come from her enthusiastic, encouraging approval over anything I wore. Anything. No matter how heinous. The eighties were not kind to the fashionably-challenged. That’s why we have mothers right? To protect us from bad bad choices? I once wore a purple striped mini skirt, with lilac wool leg warmers, suspenders and…..a sweatband ……on my forehead. For the love of God, why? Why mom? Why did you let me leave the house? And just to torture me and future generations, take a picture? And what about the perm? It wasn’t soft and pretty. It was harsh and smelled like burnt rubber. Don’t tell me “everyone will want one.” It scared children. And small pets. The pets that didn’t try to nest in it, that is. And just in case you’re wondering, I figured out what “big-boned” really means. Yeah, your little secret is out. And as long as we’re cleansing, my mother arranged my junior prom date. I must explain that I did go to an all girls school, so pick-ins were slim in the date department. She actually brokered him through her hairdresser. A more humiliating spectacle, you have never witnessed. My mom, for years, got her hair done every Saturday. I went with her every Saturday. A little beauty shop conversation, lunch at the diner and grocery shopping. Oh, I can’t forget buying comic books at the 5&10. That Jughead, he cracks me up…not really the point, I’ll move on. So my mom, behind my back, arranges a little “meet and greet” at the beauty shop, with the prom date. Of course everyone knew this but me. You see when you frequent a beauty shop at the same time on the same day every week, you know everyone. So one of the other regulars had an eligible son. Hence the truly awkward moments to follow. The meet and greet went like this. Hey, look who’s here, it’s Scott, my son. Karen, have you met Scott, he’s your age. Aren’t you in 11th grade? Ok, if I was my usual sparkling self, I probably avoided all eye contact and said something clever like “yes.” Or went that extra mile and said “hey.” Scott went with the head nod, floor stare combo. So that was the initial introduction. A mumbling yes, or hey. Some sort of head gesture and a floor stare. My mother crafted it into the love story of the century. Did you see that? Did you see the way he looked at you? No. I saw the way he looked at the floor. He’s just shy, you made him a nervous wreck, he’s not used to girls with your looks and personality. Seriously mom? So, with the mom network in full swing, he was my prom date. All I had to do was ask him. Sounds easy doesn’t it. I practiced it 1000 times. When I finally called, I said with great confidence “I was….ummmm wondering….if you …would….go …..to ..your…prom ..with….. you?.” Complete silence. I on the other hand was trying to figure out what the heck I just said. Umm, I mean…my prom…with ..me…ha..ha…yeah. I think he said yes. Well, he must have said yes, because he went. Now if this is any indication to what a loo-ooser I was, he was also my date for the senior prom. Of course I did not see or talk to him one day the entire in between proms. The beauty shop ladies arranged everything. I’m still seeking therapy over the “hoopskirt” prom dress she talked me into. Scarlet O’Hara I ain’t. My mother on the other hand has a wonderful sense of humor. If she taught me anything it is to laugh at myself…and her. And that I do quite a bit. One time we were in the diner having lunch. As you can surmise from the prom fiasco that I used to be very shy and quiet. In front of strangers. So my mom leaves me in the booth while she runs to the bathroom. Now as she’s going in the bathroom a very old...very slow elderly woman is coming out of the bathroom. Did I mention very slow? I see my mom disappear into the bathroom and simultaneously…come back out. With a look that can only be interpreted as…..sheer…panic? terror? Now she’s moving quick but she soon gets trapped behind the old lady coming up the aisle. Mom weaves to the right..she dodges to the left…..the lady ain’t budging. My mother is trapped. I can see her eyes watering. She finally gets to me. Get the check, I gotta go….What? What’s wrong? What happened? I can’t pay the check….I don’t know what to do…don’t leave me. She’s already throwing money at me and heading for the door. I am in full freak- out mode….you cannot leave me. I might have to…say something to the waitress. What if she asks me how my lunch was? What then? I’m only a child!!! I grabbed her wrist…what’s wrong? She started slowly…swallowing deeply, her eyes wild and watering. The …bathroom….was….it..had….there was…..she must have….the old .....lady….bad…smell…not…good….must ..get …air….and she was gone. I found her bent over, taking deep breaths outside. Thirty years later we still laugh about it. Well, one of us does.