this morning #1290.

this morning, we were all gathered around the tree. unwrapping gifts. soft snow falling outside. fireplace crackling. all of us chilling out in our pajamas. everyone except for mama, that is. she refuses to be seen sans makeup, sans her hair done up. even all these years after dad’s passing, she insists on projecting a classy status at all costs. in public. in private. no difference. don’t get me wrong. she looks great. always has. american royalty. elegant. still, in the forty years since she birthed me, i’ve seen her in her natural state maybe five times. her obsession with appearance simply isn’t normal. it’d be ok if she both looked and felt good. for years though, the latter has been sorely lacking.