My son said to me, “Why do you always wear grey?”
I said, “Because I like to wear grey.”
When I was a kid, I wished my mom wore poodle skirts and sweater sets. I wished she wore a checkered apron and she served us home cooked meatloaf dinners. Hell, I wished she just wore a bra when she met my teachers.
Maybe my kids wish I were different. Maybe they wish I looked like the women in magazines. Like that girl who married Tom Cruise – she always looks put together. They should sign me up for “What Not to Wear” and I could show all the viewers just how inept I am at looking the way a woman should look. They’d cut my hair and buy me a hounds-tooth jacket with matching designer shoes and I’d look perfect. Right?
Probably. But I don’t want to look perfect. I’d rather feel perfect and I'd rather let my kids see the real me. The me that wears grey sweatshirts to parent-teacher conferences. The me that spells worse than a third grader. And the me that has worn the same hairstyle for the past twenty years.
Do I still wish my mom was different? Sometimes. I still wish she wore a bra more. But wearing her ripped jeans and second-hand specials, my mother taught me to ignore the judgment of others.
Do I wish I was different? Sometimes. But most of the time I’m quite happy to be me. Ripped jeans, t-shirt, and a no-name I-forgot-where-I-put-it pocketbook. And sometimes… when I want to… I break out the designer outfit and kick-it Vogue-style. Just for me.
Thanks for stopping by.
Please support me with your honesty.
Please support me with your honesty.
