Wash That Woman Right Outta My Hair

And naturally, one of the horrors of the whole exchange between Mom and Charlotte was that Charlotte felt awful for telling me what Mom had said and making me feel awful.

There were other horrors, of course. Mom really has quite a knack for piling it on. Like it might be her last chance. Better get it all out.

This very well may have been her last chance.

A few things have become very clear.

First, make no mistake. I know I am not plain, or homely, or offensive. I have an arsenal of skin and hair products, enjoy makeup and do an artist's job of accentuating the positive and minimizing the negative and follow all the rules of good grooming. Powerful lip or powerful eye, not both. Hydrated, shiny hair suggests youth. A little concealer in the right shade will defy the years. Waxing is essential. Cover the gray. Blend. Nothing shimmery at my age.  My persona is much more Ralph Lauren Polo than Jerseylicious Smokey Eye and my look aligns with that image. Every day. Even weekends and holidays. I may layer on more mascara on a dinner date, but that is about it.

My mother's comment was intended to be repeated to me. To hurt my feelings. To put Charlotte in a position to have to hurt me. To tempt me to shoot the messenger. Weaken the bonds that have formed a united front against her and Bill and our idiot brother. Divide and conquer. She is the master of the game.

But what everyone fails to learn is that Charlotte and I have a bond that is strong and firm. It is not the tenuous, fair weather relationship that my mother is so fond of forming and breaking.  Of course Charlotte will pass along the intel. Only to strengthen my resolve and make me strong, in times when I weaken and entertain thoughts of allowing the wolf at the door to cross the threshold.

And that is where the pure evil of it all lies. Mom would sacrifice my bond with Charlotte, the very one she feared would never form when we were kids and fought like cats and dogs and appeared to be polar opposites, so that no one has anything more from the family than Joe does.  He can't have a relationship with me or with Charlotte, so Mom will attempt to destroy what Charlotte and I have to level the playing field. Her decades old pattern of taking from one child so another doesn't feel left out. All this as we approach middle age. It is pathetic.

And maybe there is some part of her that wants me to be so rankled that I call her to tell her off so that she has an opportunity to scream her nonsense at me once again. (She mentioned that my last call to her...one that preceded the peaceful graduation visit by several months, consisted of nothing more than me lighting into her and not letting her talk over me. I remember being hoarse the day after.)

I will not give her the satisfaction. I will let her wonder whether Charlotte said anything. I will let her wring her hands wondering if I am mad enough to call. I will let her stew in her own venomous juices hoping her nasty comment hit its mark until enough time has passed that even she has to tell herself that her comment, even her opinion, have absolutely no bearing on me or my life.

I am letting Bill's birthday pass. No card. No gift. And certainly no kiss on the mouth. (Eeeww) Her birthday is next month. She usually starts campaigning for what she'd like..."All I want is for my family to be together at the holidays..."

Keep dreaming, Pollyanna. Christmas will be celebrated at my house this year. Don't dare come a-caroling.