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Broke Wife, Big City
I’d like to
apologize to my mom for the following
By Aprill Brandon
So, it was Mother’s Day this past weekend. Which means that all of us
(minus the majority of reality TV stars, whom I’m praying were the
result of some government cloning experiment gone terribly wrong and
thus don’t have mothers) spent the day sucking up to our moms and
giving her useless gifts like cards covered in three tons of glitter
and stuffed bears that sing annoying songs.
But considering everything my mom had to put up with (and all the toxic
fumes from the constant hairspray cloud hanging around my teenage head
she had to breath in), I’d like to take this holiday a step farther and
give my own mother something she really wants:
Validation that she was pretty much always right and overdue apologies
for a wide variety of infractions.
And so, Mom, first and foremost I’d like to apologize for my birth.
Because I am a mom now. And I now know you weren’t exaggerating when
you compared the pain to pulling your lower lip over your entire head.
Then there was the Great Tomato Standoff of 1986. That’s three hours of
waiting for me to eat a vegetable you’ll never get back.
Oh, remember when you signed me up for that second year of ballet and
it was only after you had paid for the entire year and bought me three
new tutus that I announced I no longer wanted to do ballet? That was
fun, huh? Oof. Again. So sorry.
Let us also not forget The Great Brownie Lie of 1990, when I blamed the
missing brownie piece (of the pan of brownies you SPECIFICALLY told me
NOT to eat) on the dog. Oh, and that time when I was 14 and called you
a very bad word under my breath (which didn’t stop you from hearing it)
on the phone because you wouldn’t let me pierce my eyeball and tattoo
my tongue.
Actually, now that I think about it, I apologize in general for 1996.
For every time I made you listen to the New Kids on the Block “Hangin’
Tough” album over and over and over and over and over and over and over
and over and over and over again, I am deeply, deeply sorry. For every
track meet you had to sit through in the volatile Ohio spring weather,
but specifically that time it hailed and you toughed it out only to
watch me get seventh place in the 300 hurdles, I apologize even more.
All those times I told my brother he was actually an alien baby from
Uranus (heh) that was dropped off on our doorstep and they would be
coming back for him any day now, I…well, I’m not exactly sorry for that
because I still find it HILARIOUS, but I do own my part for his current
crippling phobia of UFO’s.
That time I got busted for drinking a Zima when I was 17? So dumb. And
again, so sorry. And yes, you were right. If I was going to get busted
for underage drinking, it should have been for a less embarrassing
drink.
And lastly, for all those birthdays I got you a “coupon book” (Good for
one free hug!) because I was too cheap to buy you an actual gift. Which
is why you are getting a semi-fancy retirement home that is only
occasionally accused of elderly abuse.
There’s so many more I could add (but let’s leave the majority of my
juvenile record out of this now that most of it has been expunged).
I love you, Mom. Thanks for letting me be me (and looking the other way
that time I was 19 and tried to act like I wasn’t hung over at
Grandma’s birthday party but we both totally knew I was).
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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