I've always been a little preoccupied with what other people think of me, but particularly with my boyfriend's moms. Clearly I have my own mommy issues, there's no deep meaning I need to unearth, but I could have made it easier on myself.
Boyfriend #1, whose initials conveniently double for Shit Head, had a mother about as warm and fuzzy as barbed wire. She was well known as a Nazi among his friends, not letting him attend a boys only sleepover with parental supervision the week before he went to college. Unsurprisingly he went off the deep-end at school, the paradoxical but predictable outcome of the maternal lock down. Looking back I believe she's a nice woman, but at 16 she scared the ever living %&*# out of me.
Boyfriend #2's mom loved me, and appropriately gave him a stern talking to when it looked like he was messing things up (fair enough - I wasn't a perfect girlfriend but I was certainly a positive influence. Among other things I convinced him to go to college, taught him basic algebra, and corrected him on his misuse of the word "constitute.") She just wasn't really my type, though.
There were others - both boyfriends and their mothers - along they way, but nothing memorable or worth recounting.
Paul's mum is a lovely woman, but I've never been sure I have her seal of approval. The first time I met her we were having Easter dinner at a restaurant, I was so nervous about what to wear. I chose black trousers, a smart pin-striped blouse, and blakc flats. She wore jeans with denim-flower embellishments, which might not have had Stacey & Clinton's approval, but they were very cute. I've always had the lurking fear that she's a little more hip than me, given our respective ages and positions in life. I certainly scored some points when she came to NYC and I took her to Century 21. Paul hates the fact that I, like his mother, will walk through a store and randomly touch things without actually looking at them and/or having any intention of buying them - clearly we were both born to shop and Paul can't appreciate this innate sixth sense.
I've gotten to know Pamela better over the recent years, and I was mighty pleased with the discount we managed to score on the Coach bag she wanted, both for the actual savings and Pam's acknowledgement of my bargain-hunting skills. On New Year's day, while Paul abandoned me for his true love, I spent a quiet day with Pam in the house. I knew I had secured my place in her esteem when she let me in on a fantastic find of hers - Sophia's Replicas. Here's a site I can get on board with. Pam even showed me that you get additional discounts if you buy multiple items and suggested I get together several girls to make a group purchase (so if anyone's interested, let me know!). She has both a Prada and a Louis Vutton so I can vouch for their quality and real-looking-ness.
And now if you'll excuse me I have some catching up to do in my designer handbag collection.
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3 comments:
Larry just yelled at me today for "fondling" in a department store. He always makes me feel like a huge perv when he says it that way!
I had no idea "fondling" the apparel was a faux par! Sometime it's best to live in ignorance.
It's not a faux pas, men just don't seem to understand that shopping is an experience for all five senses. And if, god forbid, something should happen to my sight I'd still be able to make my way around Macy's with confidence!
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