In Defense of Twinkle: Dibbs

Some people are just perfect, aren't they? I called my mother after the party last night to break all the news. I told her about the two babies on the way.
She had a meltdown. Now, there are good reasons for this meltdown. None of these people are yet equipped to parent; mentally or financially. Her meltdown wasn't about this, though. Her meltdown was induced by how people would look at her since the potential babies will be, well, bastards.
I didn't mention that I wish she would make one mistake so she could identify with us mortals. I did break the news that the Baby Jesus was thought to be illegitimate. He turned out all right. She's pondering.
Then she called me this morning--crying because I want a baby, and it's not fair. Now I feel bad. And so it goes.

Julep: Now, the deluge.

First, to Twinks: the astonishing thing to me about your last post is that your MIL thought it was appropriate or necessary to tell you that you should apologize and arrange to take your gift to the bride-to-be. Does she think you were raised by wolves? Your MIL has had plenty of opportunity to observe your manners in the past few years, and after all, your mama is a lovely woman who brought you up right for heavens sake. I would have gotten a little frosty at that directive, myself. But then, my inability to suffer condescension is one of my worst traits.

Now, to my reason for visiting the blog: I was just washing my hands in the ladies' room a moment ago, and I saw something glinting at me below my earring. I thought to myself, "Is there something stuck in my hair?" I looked more closely, and woe. Woe is me. There were not one but two bright silver strands - not tactfully hiding themselves in the hairs at my temples, but all the way down in the mass of my curls. Of course, I yanked them both immediately - and then waved them at my secretary to share my outrage. She said, "I hate to tell you this, but I see another one." I yelped, "Pull it out!" and she started to do so but then advised me there was a whole mess of them.

I suppose I should be grateful that I made it this long. My daddy and MaidenAunt both started to show significant gray between 30 and 35 ... and I'm 34. But I am not happy about this. Yes, I can (and will) dye it but I really do not feel emotionally prepared for dealing with substantially gray hair. Going gray before getting pregnant seems like some sort of unkind biological prank.

Twinkle: Shoe Tale Continued

My MIL's reponse when I apologized for missing the shower, a passive-aggressive I-don't-care shoulder shrug that I've seen her use when she actually does care deeply, and "Well, it doesn't matter to me, but you need to call [bride's name] and apologize and take her your gift." Mr. Twinkle said, "What else is she going to say?" Here's what I would have said: "That's OK. Don't worry about it. People make mistakes." But whatever...there's no room for mistakes in MIL's universe...too bad for her she's forced to share her universe with the rest of us incompetents.

I had, of course, already arranged to take the present to the bride-to-be when my MIL issued her bossy and b*tchy directive. Bride-to-be had just come out of an 80-minute deep tissue massage at Elements and didn't seem one bit miffed at my calendar oversight.

I got to see the gorgeous pair of Blahniks, and I heard the story of how she wept when she opened them because she was so surprised. She talked about how moved she was that the hostesses went in to give her something she truly wanted, and how every time she wears them she'll remember how loved she felt when she received the gift. The shoes mean something to her.

According to my calculations, each of the 7 hostesses paid $102, not including tax/shipping for the shoes. I know my MIL would have gladly paid that amount for another gift--a nice kitchen item, perhaps. And that kitchen item would likely have gone unused, since the bride isn't all that interested in cooking. MIL's central tragedy is that she's totally incapable of seeing anyone else's perspective, or understanding that people's desires and motivations may differ from hers. She's generous only when she approves. Even Mr. Twinkle will readily admit that.

So I saw MIL tonight and she was rolling her eyes and hatin' on the shoes as expected. She doesn't even know how much her gift means to the bride, and she never will. And it's her loss. She's joyless.

Twinkle: It Was An Honest Mistake

So you know that three-hour, 50-person shower that was way out in Norton Commons that I've been dreading all spring, the only redeeming quality of which was that I was going to get to see the pair of shoes that incites such righteous indignation in my MIL? Well, it's going on right now...and guess who's on her back porch planting heirloom tomatoes and eating M&Ms.

I honestly did think it was Sunday, but the funny thing is that I designed the invitation. I of all people, should know when the thing is. It was one of those events that I didn't care enough about to pay attention to the details, and somehow I just thought it was on a Sunday.

So my MIL called to see if I was coming (she was actually nice, and I'm sure she wondered why on earth I'd be an hour late to a luncheon that I'd said I'd attend). I was like--"Yes, I'll be there. See you tomorrow!" Imagine my glee when she said it was going on right then!

My only regret is not seeing the shoes, and watching my MIL's passive-aggressive disapproval. But mostly I just feel like I won the lottery.

Save It, Tinkerbell: Dibbs

"I traded eyeliner for dark circles, salon hair cuts for ponytails, long showers for hairy legs, late nights for early mornings, designer purses for diaper bags and I wouldn't change a thing!! With Mother's Day drawing near, let's see how many Moms repost this."

If y'all think that's sweet, I totally understand. It makes me want to gag myself with a spoon. It was posted today by one of my sorority sisters who's reinvented herself as a Disney Princess. Actually, that's a pretty impressive feat, as she spend her college years with her knees behind her head on the Phi Tau floor. But I digress...

Here's problem one. This particular girl lives in a resort town complete with nannies and diamond tennis bracelets. She hasn't really traded down from her years in a south-end high school.

And...problem two. If every mother really gave up shaving her legs and wearing makeup forever, well, we'd have a whole lot more only children, wouldn't we? And no more Kate Spade or salons ever? Ever? How do those places stay in business? Single girls and grandmas? Bee-atch, please.

Okay, I'm going over to facebook to hide Tinkerbell. I'll be back.

Julep Has Left the Building

I came to the blog to post this article ... with what would have been deep thoughts and trenchant commentary.

But I have laughed so hard at the photo Twinkle posted that I have no more cogent thoughts to offer. Carry on, ladies.

Twinkle: He's Single, Ladies

So I sat down tonight and logged on to a little Facebook, and this is what popped up. This is apparently some guy from my high school who friended me, and I'm pretty sure I friended him back in an attempt to figure out who he is. No recollection, but I'm certainly glad he's on my news feed now.

According to his profile he is, in fact, interested in women. He is also a Catholic, whose interests include Motocross and parenting. (And who among us doesn't have a similar picture of our own father?) He's an English bulldog enthusiast, and his favorite book is Lord of the Flies. He is a CSX railroad conductor, subscribes to Dirt Wheels magazine, and enjoys the music of the New Minglewood Ramblers. He is a supporter of Jim Bunning (not surprising), and is a Kentucky Fan Against Billy Clyde. He is a proud alumnus of St. Margaret Mary, an institution that is no doubt proud to claim him.

He is also the single best argument in favor of a private education I have encountered yet.