Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Crap, Crap, Crap.

A few posts ago, I entitled the entry as "It's All Crap."

But I wrote at such length then, I thought I should finish the story later. Here it is:

So Sally wasn't able to change her toenail appointment, and thus missed her 12-year-old grand-daughter's graduation ceremony. Getting those nails clipped was more important to her than seeing Kathleen float across the gymnasium stage in her minty-green, flower-encrusted organza dress, looking for all the world like a dream.

My good friend, who Kathleen calls "Auntie," presented my daughter with the most beautiful bouquet of flowers, and Kathleen proudly posed for pictures once the ceremony concluded. None of those pictures included my mother, busily off on her podiatrist date.

Now, I ask you, if you were 90, what would you rather do? Go to the podiatrist for your free poodle clip, OR see your daughter's daughter, all blond and freckled and Straight A's, making that next step into middle school, glimpsing that adolescent life ahead, tossing that impossibly perfect ponytail while walking into the future?

I know what I'd do, and I know what Sally did.

Anyway, that's not what's so crappy, although come to think of it, that was REALLY crappy.

Here's where the "crappy" comment came in.

I told you, in that post, about Sally's relentless harassment of me, while I was trying to paint, and trying to do my laundry.

So, what happened, after I went downstairs to put in my load of laundry, and Sally called the podiatrist for the millionth time, and wheedled and whined and manipulated, was this: I went back outside to finish painting, and Sally toodled off to the the washing machine and removed my laundry and dumped it all in the dryer, and turned said dryer on "hot, 1 hour."

Then, she proceeded to put ONE SWEATER in the washing machine, and turn it on. I told you her needs are pressing, and immediate. And she needed that sweater washed, immediately. Even though it's summer, and it's bloody hot.

After, when I pulled the shrunken, ruined items from the drier, and asked her WHY, WHY she'd done this, she pursed her mouth, remained silent for a moment, her face clearly communicating how unimpressed she was with my hurt and anger, then pronounced: "Oh, just buy yourself a new top. It's all crap, anyway."

This is my mother.

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