I’m not a snob. Really, I’m not.
It’s just that you seem to think you’re so hot.
Have you looked in a mirror? Have you taken a gander?
Those bumps on your face could sure use a sander!
Your hairstyle is wrong, too short and outdated.
I can’t help myself, I know I sound jaded,
But really your ears! They’re so floppy and big!
You should truly invest in a long flowing wig.
The nose isn’t bad, once you get past the hump
Except that the end is all bulbous and plump.
Those lips look swollen and filled with blubber.
Are you sure they’re not phony and just made of rubber?
And what’s with the belly, all big and so bloated
From dinner plates filled and thoroughly loaded!
The width of your hips is broad beyond reason
I hate to tell you, but it just ain’t pleasin’…
Two flabby thighs, all cottage cheesy
Makes my stomach heave and go all queasy.
I look at your legs and wonder outloud
Why no one has draped them with a coverup shroud
To hide the calves so crooked and bowed
Along with flat feet that are pigeon toed.
I know I’ve missed something, I can’t guess what…
Wait a minute, I know….it’s about your butt!
Ten times too big, too dimpled and round,
The likes of which doesn’t cease to astound.
Go hide yourself, crawl under your rock,
The rest of the world doesn’t need such a shock.
I make you this promise, I’m doing you a favor
My only hope is to be your lifesaver.
Don’t bother with doctors or treatment and such,
Nothing they do is gonna help you much.
It’s better to hide and forget about others,
Forget about me, forget your brothers,
There’s no better tip, can’t think of another.
I’ll just sign this note, Your Loving Mother.
No, this isn’t a message to my daughter. It isn’t a message to anyone. It’s the result of a sick and twisted mind, kicked into gear because of something I read. WordPress sends out a newsletter called the “Daily Press,” in which there are posted little tidbits of advice and snippets of information aimed at helping bloggers. One of the things mentioned in the post was how sounds can transport us to another time. Certain sounds are lodged in our memories and associated with specific events or periods in our lives.
I got to thinking about what sounds held great importance to me. The first thing that came to mind was the sound of my children’s laughter when they were babies. Every single one of them, all four, had the most infectious laughter. There were times as they were growing up, where rules were broken and some sort of punishment was on order. It never failed. While I was trying to be all “I am the law in this house,” one of the kids would, unintentionally, say something that verged on being hilarious. The muffled snickers would start and I would pretend not to notice, working ever so hard to keep a stern tone and expression. I failed miserably because I just loved the sound of their laughter. I can’t count the times I told them, “I may be laughing, but I’ll still spank you.” Well, that never happened, but they did get sent to their rooms…laughing all the way.
A certain melody or song can send me back into a pleasant reverie, too. My daughter, Lindsay, had this wonderfully cute, but persistent lisp. She tried so hard to overcome it, but it took her well into elementary school to do so. She was about four when she first saw the movie Annie! She fell in love with it and watched it over and over, learning the songs and most of the dialog. Whenever I hear the song, “Tomorrow,” I remember how she struggled through it, singing at the top of her lungs and really pouring her heart into it. She was so cute with her lisp… “Da thun’ll come out tomawoh, bet yule bottom dawwar dat tomawoh, dere’ll be thun…….When I’m thtuck wif a day dat’s gway and wonewie, I jess thtick out my chin and thay…” Yeah, she sounded like a drunken Elmer Fudd, but she was mine and I thought it was great, not to mention extremely entertaining. In fact, to this day, she reminds me how I humiliated her by getting her to sing that song in front of all my friends over and over and over….
Now, about that little ditty at the top: I was one of those little girls who didn’t behave the way little girls growing up in the 60’s were supposed to behave. I climbed rocks and trees. I played Cowboy and Indians. I played in the mud and splashed around in rain puddles on the way home from school. I was the only girl out of five children. My mother wanted me to actually behave like a girl. I just didn’t see the point in being all dressed up and pretty. There simply wasn’t any fun in it. I didn’t want to sit properly with my white gloved hands resting politely in my lap. I didn’t want to wear torturous curlers in my hair every night just to have those God-awful bologna ringlets hanging down my back.
Don’t get me wrong. I played house and I played Barbies. I had over three dozen doll babies and all the play kitchen appliances and furniture. It wasn’t the role playing I minded; it was the expectation that I should care about appearances. I took a bath and brushed my teeth every night before bedtime. I put on clean clothes every day, and brushed my hair every morning. That was enough for me. It’s still enough for me, though I don’t mind putting a little makeup on now and then.
I’m now a grandmother, but some things just never change. There’s a certain tone my mother uses when she wants to pass on a bit of her wisdom. When I hear her start off a sentence with that tone and the words, “You should really consider doing….” I’m immediately transported back to my childhood, though my mother would never have said it quite the way I wrote it. That’s just my way of having fun at her expense. Sorry, Mom! Love ya lots!