12 August 2008
12 true colors
in her retirement, my mum (whom i love love love and am exploiting here because it's a slow writing week) clips coupons. and- because i live Close To The Edge- she sends the relevant ones to me. now, i'm new at this game. and maybe there aren't any games being played here. but there, nestled among the boca burgers and the cheerios and the zest zinger body bath bars, there was a shocker.
my mum hates my hair. she says i don't look like me. that i don't look sweet. i can only conclude this means the woman who bore my thinks i presently look like the devil's spawn.
this has been a bone of contention throughout my raven years. it's second only to the subject of why i ever thought living with that person i lived with was a good idea. in the pyramid of things that horrify my mother, there's shacking up and then there's black hair.
which is why this coupon makes no sense. is it the subtlest attack yet? or have my raven locks finally found approval? or, scariest of all, is she edging me onto a path that ends with a $2 savings on "dream blonde"?