Thanks, Mom!
When I was 13 I had a dress my mother hated. (Today I have a similar dress; I call it my Sex-Bomb dress and it's worn to SHOCK & AWE) Mommy Dearest hated my dress in a way that was inexplicable to me.
At the time.
Looking back now I sort of understand it. I did not look like a hooker, exactly, but I looked... what's the right word? ... RIPE. Where'd I get this dress? I think I must of traded something for it. Probably some piece of amazingly expensive jewelry, valuing my own ripeness over gold. So, my mom would take this dress and throw it in the trash can in the garage. (She was very passive aggressive that way) Then I would dig it out of the trash, wash it and put it on. It went like this ~
Sleep
Sneak
Trash
Sneak
Retrieve
Launder
"What do you think you're wearing young lady?!?"
"You DON'T OWN ME!"
Slam
We did this 5 times. I swear. Five times she tossed and 5 times I retrieved. We seemed locked in a battle here. SEEMED. Passive aggressive Mommy Dearest got me on the 6th go round.
Take a wee moment to imagine what she did. Some might think she just took it away. Throw it in some undisclosed trash can. Give it to a friend of hers to dispose of. Make my father take it to work. Good Will. Here's what I'd do NOW; Wear it herself. To my school. (I'm evil but not passive aggressive) Or, perhaps, just insist that her rules were the rules til I went to college and got a job of my own and really understood what it meant to be thought of as Lolita.
She did not do any of these things.
She cut it up. Into tragically misshapen and small pieces that could never be reconstituted. She cut it up and threw it right in that same trash can, right on the top, to assert her superior position. Those pieces looked up at me as if to say "Surrender all hope, you can not win. Missy."
Boy. You gotta know that at the time I was pissed. But looking back (When I look back on all the crap I learned in high school, it's a wonder I can think at all) Looking back I realize the utility of her method. She decided it needed to be gone and it kept turning back up (Just like a BAD PENNY: ironic). Just kept turning back up like that movie monster no one ever kills. She decided not to run screaming from the dress, hide in the closet and hold her breath. Nope, she killed that monster, but good.
Moral of the story? Some times the only way to really be rid of something is to just break it.
At the time.
Looking back now I sort of understand it. I did not look like a hooker, exactly, but I looked... what's the right word? ... RIPE. Where'd I get this dress? I think I must of traded something for it. Probably some piece of amazingly expensive jewelry, valuing my own ripeness over gold. So, my mom would take this dress and throw it in the trash can in the garage. (She was very passive aggressive that way) Then I would dig it out of the trash, wash it and put it on. It went like this ~
Sleep
Sneak
Trash
Sneak
Retrieve
Launder
"What do you think you're wearing young lady?!?"
"You DON'T OWN ME!"
Slam
We did this 5 times. I swear. Five times she tossed and 5 times I retrieved. We seemed locked in a battle here. SEEMED. Passive aggressive Mommy Dearest got me on the 6th go round.
Take a wee moment to imagine what she did. Some might think she just took it away. Throw it in some undisclosed trash can. Give it to a friend of hers to dispose of. Make my father take it to work. Good Will. Here's what I'd do NOW; Wear it herself. To my school. (I'm evil but not passive aggressive) Or, perhaps, just insist that her rules were the rules til I went to college and got a job of my own and really understood what it meant to be thought of as Lolita.
She did not do any of these things.
She cut it up. Into tragically misshapen and small pieces that could never be reconstituted. She cut it up and threw it right in that same trash can, right on the top, to assert her superior position. Those pieces looked up at me as if to say "Surrender all hope, you can not win. Missy."
Boy. You gotta know that at the time I was pissed. But looking back (When I look back on all the crap I learned in high school, it's a wonder I can think at all) Looking back I realize the utility of her method. She decided it needed to be gone and it kept turning back up (Just like a BAD PENNY: ironic). Just kept turning back up like that movie monster no one ever kills. She decided not to run screaming from the dress, hide in the closet and hold her breath. Nope, she killed that monster, but good.
Moral of the story? Some times the only way to really be rid of something is to just break it.
posted by Bad Penny at 11:37 AM
4 Comments:
I think our mothers were related. No, I didn't have a dress (now THAT would have REALLY caused trouble), but I did have a pair of jeans that was way too tight in the ass. Exact same scenario.
Worked.
-G
Damn, you know wherever I surf I keep coming back to your blog? It's getting a little spooky. Whipped Mother's blog sends me here, blogexlpo. sends me here....I give up. Consider yourself bookmarked and linked too.
Jessie! You gorgeous thing, you. Resistance is futile... just give in. ;) Penny
Can we see your new dress?
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