Here Baby, There Mama

08 Nov 2004 By

My sister and I have had this conversation a million times. I don’t know why we keep rehashing it. Maybe because it keeps coming up.

I talked to my mom the other day and said that I couldn’t believe that when I go home next it will have been 11 months since the last time. I mentioned how every time I leave home for a significant period of time, something is really different about the house. In this case the burnt orange living room carpet that’s older than I am has been torn up, leaving the hardwood floors underneath.

Continuing in the vein of things being different after a long time, I then mentioned that my hair’s gotten pretty long and after a brief discussion of just how long it is, my mom said that she’s glad I’ve grown it out and my grandmother will be happy to see it long as well.

???

It’s. Just. Hair. Is the length of my hair so important that you feel the need to keep wincing every time I cut it and then evoke the grandmother when I grow it out? She practically cried the whole two weeks I sported the afro puff. Mom, I think you’ve got bigger concerns. Like your passive-aggressive depressed husband and, I don’t know, telling your mother you’re just like Dick Cheney because 50% of your (two) daughters are gay lesbian homosexual. For starters.

  • http://beenie.highlymoody.com Kat

    My grandma is just the opposite – she hates that I keep my hair long. Her comment: “you’ll just get it in your soup.”

    Huh?

  • http://swerlspice.blogspot.com Em

    That’s your mother. And don’t get me started on that hair business.

  • http://www.kazoofus.com Kathy Howe

    My grandma tells everyone they look like they have put on a few pounds then proceeds to dig out cinnimon rolls and cookies.

  • http://thewatergirl.blogspot.com the watergirl

    My grandma, who, if she doesn’t has cataracts, has awful, terrible vision, likes to tell my mom that she should be getting her hair professionally dyed instead of doing it out of the box. How she can tell is a mystery to us all.

    My great great Aunt (who, btw, is still alive and lives in the D solo to this day) told me I looked like Babs (Streisand) when I was about 13. I was horrified, although apparently she meant it in a good way.