- I promised an entry about how my mother and sister make me feel like I was dropped off in Roswell instead of born there.
Spending time with them isn't bad for me, in fact it is probably good, it always makes me slightly less tomboyish. My husband still laughs at how they think someday they may turn me into a girl.
I am not totally devoid of any girly habits, I bake. I wear a dress on special occasions. I even own a pair of heels, I just am incapable of handling the torture of wearing them. Okay, so my makeup has a bad habit of expiring before I have used it more than three times, and I have to cut my nails off to get rid of the dirt. I'll admit the only reason my toenails are painted is because at least one is black underneath the paint. I'll also conceed that it is possible that I get out the shower, put gel on my hair and won't look at it again all day.
My mother's standard questions: - Do you need mascara? (she buys in bulk from Avon or something)
- Do you need clothes? (aka you aren't going to wear that are you?)
- What kind of bra are you wearing? (I guess my sports bra uniboob bugs her)
- Are you going to comb your hair? (I already did, mom!)
She calls me last week before we leave. I am at Bealls. Do you need clothes? I'll buy some and bring them with me. They have this cute brown and turquoise shirt with matching tank underneath it. It doesn't sound appealing, she buys and bring it to me. Lets just say the fabric pattern looked like someone puked after eating a couple bags of turquoise M&M's. And it reminded me of the 70's. I passed, although I did try it on. She bought this other coral thing that reminded me of a nightie. In fact I thought it was pajamas at first, it turned out it was cute, but alas I am going to have buy a nicer bra since it doesn't go with my industrial strength nursing bras from last year.
My sister speaks a language I don't understand. She was instructing her husband on which outfit to put the baby in. Get the CK with the Robeeze she said. Que? He apparently knows what this means as he comes down with the correct outfit. I would have called it the pink dress with yellow flowers on it and the pink shoes, but then again that is just me.
Spending time with them also means that I will be fixing my hair, wearing clothes that are not muddy and wearing makeup. I sit down at my sister's vanity to put makeup on and she has this lighted magnification mirror. I try not to look, I know I won't like what I see, but like the girl in the horror movie, I do anyway. I spend the next hour exfoliating, plucking and cursing my ugly self. The next morning the same thing happens, it is a scary cycle. I even use her torturous device that plucks hair from your skin. I am tough. I have birthed two children. I can handle it. --No one can prove I cried so it did not happen. (Just kidding, it wasn't that bad, I want to buy one, except I have no idea where you even shop for one.)
The upside is I try out all her product for her hair and find which ones I like because I don't usually spend money trying all kinds of new stuff. She did turn me on to the powder makeup which is easy and doubles as sunscreen since I am allergic to most lotions. (It doesn't go bad as quickly either.)
They think I am weird as I stroll around looking at plants naming the bugs and weeds I see. I think they are weird as they discuss clothes, fabric and sewing.
Family is a funny thing. If we didn't look alike I wouldn't be sure we were related sometimes, except for our snarky tempers. (But I am the best behaved, just ask me.) I have come to accept they will always try to help me look a little better, and that Mom is going to buy me girly watches that I am never going to wear for Christmas. I love them, but I am still going to be playing in the mud with bugs and wearing my ball cap okay?
