Mighty Morphin' Flower Arrangers!

There is no doubt I am turning into my mother. This picture, taken last October, demonstrates the similarity. We're both snappy dressers for one thing, though we have different color preferences. (This tank top looked much better on the hanger, I promise. I was counting on the horizontal stripes to make me look less anorexic, but I haven't worn it since I saw these pictures. Let's just say I fought the frump and the frump won).

I thought about listing all the ways in which I have morphed into her, but it would be much easier and more succinct to list the few ways we are different.

1. She wears glasses. I can only dream.

2. She's 25 years older, although she doesn't look like it.

3. She leans to the right, I lean to the left, as evidenced both by our postures and our politics. But the lean is there in reflection.

4. While many have suggested otherwise, we are not actually married to the same man.

5. She's holding a margarita. I left mine in the kitchen, to my eternal regret.

6. She pays attention at church. I sit in the church's cafe and stare out the window.

7. She drives like a nervous 15 year old, I drive like an 80 year old grandmother.

8. When conflict arises she freezes; I put on my boxing gloves. And my mouth guard. And I smear black stuff under my eyes.

9. She makes her own carrot juice and knows what to do with stuff like chard and kale. I eat frosting out of the tub.

10. She loves to dance, I don't see the point. It seems like a strange sort of thing to want to do, like marathon running or scrapbooking. Honestly, why do people do such things?

There's more, but it's against bloggy code to make a list longer than ten items in one post unless it's your 100th post. So I'll leave it there.

I know plenty of women wring their hands over the prospect of turning into their mothers, but it honestly doesn't phase me. Maybe it would if my mom were an alcoholic or a Tupperware representative or an interfering type, but she isn't. She's Practically Perfect in Every Way.

And I'll try to keep that in mind at the mother-daughter brunch we're going to on Saturday if she fails to win the floral centerpiece.

Subscribe to Memarie Lane

Stumble It!