My mother started her obsession with Shop-At-Home television when I was quite young. I can remember coming home from school, going into her bedroom and seeing her with the remote in one hand and the phone in the other. Maybe this is why I hate shopping so very much. You see, my mother is the type of person that wants everyone around her to believe she’s a high class woman. Quote: “Megan, put on some pantyhose for church. Your bare legs look low class” or “Megan, don’t say fuck in public, it sounds low class.” Yes mother, I will only say fuck in the presence of family.
Anyway, yesterday I was talking to The Mary-Rita (I prefer to refer to my mom as The Mary-Rita, it sounds higher class than just Mom)as she drove from her double-wide to the UPS store. Yes, the high class Mary-Rita chooses to live in a double wide trailor in Florida rather then live in a normal house in Kansas. She likes to look tan. It’s high class. So, she gets to the UPS store to return some packages, which she then explains she’s ordered from QVC and had sent to Florida so my Dad won’t know. She used to send the packages home as “gifts” so the price wasn’t on them, but then she could never remember how much she spent. The “faux gold” tiarras weren’t quite what she thought they’d be, so she’s returning them.
The Mary-Rita explains to the UPS guy that she HATES it when people talk on their phones while in the store, but she’s talking to her daughter from Kansas who never calls.
“She’s beautiful and 22, how old are you?”
**The only time my mother ever says I’m beautiful is when she’s either trying to find me a husband or show someone how high class she is, for only high class people have beautiful daughters**
“I’m 22.”
“Megan, did you hear that. He’s 22! You should come down and meet him!”
Yes mother, I’ll just jump a plane down there tomorrow to meet your friend the UPS guy.
