Sunday, January 01, 2006

Scene Stealer

What happens when you mix expensive denim with a mother, any ol' mother, especially one who refuses to accept modern standards of living? You get darting looks from other customers, a manic matriarch passed the verge of Hulkdom, and a mouthful of insults.

What started off as a day of shopoholic intentions turned into a meow meow, claws-out brawl. I continued sulking in the car, acting irritated and peeved-off:

"How could you humiliate me like that in the store?"

The truth is, I wasn't very embarrassed. I had initially handed my credit card over to the salesgirl reluctantly anyway. (She was too good!) My mom's tantrum was a blessing in disguise considering I would've had to sell my body to pay off the subsequent bill. Frankie B. and Gas: nice jeans, just not worth the STDs. I was still pouting as we neared the exit ramp, apology at the tip of my tongue, soliloquy in my head. But it never made it out. Maybe her friend had told her something at the restaurant or it could've well been simple retrospection; in any case, by the time we turned into the driveway, she was figuring out ways to make it up to me:

"Let's go shopping again tomorrow," she suggested. "We can find something before you leave."

Don't bother, I told her: "I don't care anymore." Which was the honest truth -- pants never meant much to me to begin with. (There's no nudity clause in my contract.) Yet, even as she scrambled to get me to stop frowning, I couldn't come out and say sorry. The entire incident was clearly my fault: my will too weak to oppose material temptation. I was guilty of impulsiveness and thought I could hide it from her. She was justified in getting angry; I had been prepared to lie for distressed blues. My mouth kept shut the entire time to gain sympathy from the staff, but in reality, I wanted my money back as much as my mother did -- I just didn't have the balls to pull out all the stops to make a timely ruckus.

Besides, I don't do the mall. It's about the art, as my father likes to point out, tauntingly.

Lecon du jour: One must never trust a parent to behave in public without supervision or a bribe. "Deranged" doesn't even begin to cut it.


"How do you spell cremation?"

Oh, that sly woman. Never without an idea for restoring peace.

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