It started out innocently enough. I was going to a writer's meeting and wanted to go 70s. So I brought my headscarf to my daughter for "adjusting". Yeah, right.
She took one look at me, rolled her all-knowing teenage eyes and set out to do the impossible: make mom presentable for public viewing.
Now, I wasn't born under a rock or anything but apparently my daughter thinks I was. With all the grandeur of a surgeon she said, "Comb." "Brush." "Mousse." With artistic precision she gave me the hairstyle of a thirteen-year-old. This girl has gorgeous long hair and is the epitome of a teenage cheerleading Barbie. I am the epitome of a working single mom who doesn't have the time or money for beauty salons.
So we get the hairstyle the way she likes it.
"Honey, these two strands are in
Mo-ther, that's how they're suppose to be." (I can hear her thinking: How on earth have I put up with Mom all these years?)
"Now your makeup." She
proceeds to powder me, color me and gloss
me until a stranger looks back at me in
"I'm going to a meeting, not on a date."
"Well, maybe you should, Mom. Quit saying no when you're asked out."
I grumbled something under my breath as I leave about a certain place freezing over. She just smiled and returned to her bedroom.
Now as luck would have it, I couldn't find the meeting. I really tried. I looked on all three floors of the library and as I got out of the elevator in defeat to go home, I ran into a friend from church. He invited me to go out for Italian food. We laughed and talked for over two hours and I was reminded of how fun it was to be just in the company of a man again.
Hmmm....I wonder what my daughter can
do for me for New Year's Eve?