iris

Being that it is Mother's Day, I left the obligatory voicemail on Mom's cell this morning. I called when I knew she'd be at the gym so I wouldn't have to hear how I screwed everything up. Before getting pregnant with me, her and my father were the quintessental yuppies-- with the high power jobs and the corner offices at NYC law firms, spending every night out at the hottest bars and resturants and weekends in the Hamptons. Whatever. It doesn't even bother me anymore, I've listened to the rant so many times I can quote it verbatum.

Mother's Day has never been fun for me though. I remember one year we were supposed to go to brunch at my relatives. But beforehand, my slightly (read-excessively) inebreated father found it appropriate to say I looked like a hooker in my sundress. I went up, changed and we left. When we get to my family's, he thought it would be a good idea to point out to everyone that (in his eyes), I should have left the first dress on because it was good preperation for my future career of a prostitute. I was 10.

Last year on Mother's Day I was dress shopping for somthing to wear to my cousin's wedding. Such an ordeal, but it wasn't bad. I got bagels and lox and made coffee earlier for Mother and she had made it very clear that she had her own plans for the day and that I was not to interfere-- which was clearly fine by me.

And now, she's in Jersey with my brother. I think he was taking her to Chez Catherine-- this amazing little French bistro-- in our town for brunch. They always got along much better than she and I. Oh well. One less person I have to deal with...

I really don't like people that much.