Mother's Curse

Every woman I know, and I am assuming all of those I do not, has the same fear. Some wear it proudly across their perky boobs and some hide it in the backs of their closets next to their oh-so-stereotypical-but-stereotypes-come-from-truth jeans that do not stretch over their fat ass anymore.

They are afraid of becoming their mother.

This is true if your mother is a serial killer (obviously, and seriously, isn't society as a whole wishing along with you?) and it is true if your mother is a saint. Even if you never met your mother and only know her from loving tales and one faint, grainy photo you are thinking, "She has sort of a Sound of Music vibe, I really don't want to work that."

I say this now because my mother, she is afraid of becoming my grandmother. She fears this the way that gazelles fear lions in the wild. Especially the old sick ones who are just barely out-running the lion. The ones who know they are one trip over a rock from being lion dinner.

Run Run Run.

My grandmother isn't a bad person. And for all the fear that everyone in my family has of her she has never spent even a moment in San Quentin Prison. Not even on a tour. She is the kind of grandma your friends think is adorable, who buys you presents and crochets and volunteered at your elementary school. I mean I love my grandmother, she is the sweetest old lady I know.

But she is psycho.

I mean she is straight crazy. Can manipulate you into anything with guilt. Can burn through steel with her hot beady eyes. Her voice reaches an octave that makes Charlie Manson quiver in his cell. She wears a wig that I am fairly certain doubles as a Chinese fighting star.

My grandmother made me eat Vix Vapo Rub when I was seven years old. Because she believes Vix can cure anything. My sister has started a diabolical campaign to convince people I ate it of my own free will but that is MADNESS and wrong. I have not decided if she is just being a liar or has she forgotten. I somewhat suspect she is concocting a plot to have me committed based on my Vix eating but DEAR SISTER I AM ON TO YOU. YOU WILL NOT GET MY PIANO SO QUIT TRYING TO GET ME SENT TO THE LOONY BIN.

It is not really paranoia if your sister is totally trying to steal your large scale musical instrument.

This weekend I saw my mother living her future and that future scared the fuck out of me and everyone else in my family.

She was screaming in a voice that I am used to hearing blare at my grandfather, "LLLOYD!" (GASP there goes internet anonymity, my grandpa's name is Lloyd, I bet he was the only one in the twenties!). She wasn't screaming at my grandpa, but my dad. She had that frightening run not walk. She even had the scary eyes of death. I wanted to search her purse for Vix but I was afraid she would whip of a wig and through it at me all Bruce Lee style.

I worship my mother, but dear GOD she cannot do this to me. Because that means in ten years instead of taking me shopping and drinking cocktails she will be screeching at me on the phone about how she DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A DAUGHTER and COULD I PUT ON LIPSTICK I LOOK DEAD and then my head will explode in terror.

And that doesn't even begin to cover considering whether or not this means I will one day talk about how I haven't shaved my legs above the knee in ten years, insist on saying WARSH-ington and will I start wearing my pants inches too short.

So I am going back to bed, to quiver under my covers.

In FEAR YOU SICKIES.