Today is a Sunday. The holy day for all those who have to work Monday to Saturday, the day we sleep late, eat comfort food and just generally spend it by being lazy. This program is not acceptable to those who stay at home, at least that’s the conclusion I’ve drawn watching my mom for the last 10 years or so. Around 12 noon, the doorbell rang. Not my favorite way to start a Sunday but I didn’t get a choice in the matter. And something told me it would be my mom. I’m not prone to flashes of intuition but when I do get them, boy am I right!
It was my mom back from a week with her parents because my grandfather just had surgery (he’s doing great, in case you’re wondering). The first thing she says is not how I am or something on those lines but I get the usual spiel of how can I be waking up just now, how could I skip breakfast (funny but she wouldn’t object if I said I’m fasting for religious reasons), how could I not take a bath etc. Yeah mom, it’s great to have you back too!
Not that it made much of a difference her being out of town and all. She can harangue me long distance too. Either 20 odd years of practice have honed her skills or there’s some sort of special initiation ceremony when your daughters are born, where they teach you this stuff. Lets go back a couple of days and I’ll explain. Friday evening I’m at the movies about to watch The Adventures of Tintin, on the day it was released when she calls me up & tells me to mail some pictures of mine to some marriage broker.
Finding out that I’m at the movies, her reaction? “How could you go to 2 movies in 2 days in a row! You’re an imbecile.” The implication of course being that the neighbours would notice and this had to be the heights of imbecility in her book. To cut a long story short, I got out of a cinema where I’d paid 250 bucks to watch a great movie to mail some photos to some guy who may or may not turn out to be my future husband (or his family) & who couldn’t wait a couple of hours for me to finish watching the movie to get them. Ironically, turns out our horoscopes don’t even match and all that drama for nothing.
And then cool as a cucumber she drops yet another bombshell on me. Apparently the broker who got my photographs told my mother that my eyes look weird in them and now he wants a whole other bunch (coz of course he’s the one who decides whether I’m acceptable or not). Every Tom, Dick and Harry gets to weigh in on how I look, except me. Why am I filled with horror at the thought of my pictures being taken yet again? Well that’s fodder for another post coming soon…Stay tuned for more while I get back to my interrupted Sunday program.