I had noticed it early in my childhood and when I was in my ridiculous pre-goth years of smeared red lips when she cut up my favorite Cure concert T-shirt.
She has been crazy before was the point. My mother has done the Mexican hat dance on a Cowboy hat and jumped up and down on a birthday cake before throwing it at the (I’m sure) deserving man. I’m sure there were other memorable moments.But when she decided to dip her foot in the online dating pool -things hit a new high.
My mother is an amazing mother, friend and is actually kind of cool. She’s nor a psycho. She is one of the kindest hearted, genuinely nice people.Enough of that.I hate feelings.
Since I have been married to the same man for eternity and beyond I am fascinated and aghast at my mother’s new and exciting soon to be love life.
Mom is obsessed with her profile picture. I was used to her being vain.My mom is extra to the point of using exercise time at the park for a photo shoot. I took 167 pictures in one hour because she kept saying she needed more. She hated all of them.
Clearly, I was unprepared .l was not ready for the Match.com Mom 2.0.
Mom had adopted the vernacular of a giddy teenager.She gushed on and on about the guys who liked her picture.
The nonstop insanity that surrounded me increased ten fold when she had a “friend.”
This friendship died in the water after a few days (that felt like years )that is all she talked about.
For weeks, she sulked.
Imagine early onset Dementia meets online dating. Fun, isn’t it?
For weeks. I avoided her like the plague. Because that is all she talked about. Repeating the same things over and over like I don’t have an eidetic memory or want to hear it again.
I had lost my best friend. She was a Stepford Wife.
She was hilarious, funny and repetitive. In what seemed like another dimension because it was so far removed from my petty life-, my formerly tea – totaling mother was relieving the sixties. Not the Woodstock version. I was referring to her revival of “Twiggy ” dresses, which she adorably calls vintage.
I could only hope it meant that she understood when I told her that Pete Wentz called and wanted his skinny jeans back. She did n’t. She just bought more lace vests and leggings.
Chaos ensued. One day as I was cleaning out my closet, I started taking Mom clothes that I never wore. My mother was trying to be sexy.
Ewwwww…. that sounds so gross. Just saying it makes me want to puke split pea soup everywhere. NEXT …can’t handle the sexy mom style… moms don’t have cleavage.
Moms are supposed to wear polyester pantsuits and a “Can I speak to the manager” haircut. That’s “Mom-style” but not my mom.
Wait a minute, that’s not me either, Yo.
Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion.
To be continued…