2003-05-12 - 6:59 p.m.
Remember you love her, remember you love her, remember you love her...
Why do I do this to myself? Why do I suggest outings that I know will go terribly wrong? Am I really that much of a masochist?
Well, no. But my weekend was interesting, to say the least.
I went home on Friday night. We had a Bat Mitzvah to go to on Saturday. I haven’t been to a Bat Mitzvah in ages, probably since I was about 14. It was a particularly good one; the food was excellent, the service was great, we had a good time. I found myself stuck in that weird age limbo—too old for the kids and too young for the “grown-ups”. I sat at a table with other in-between types, but I was the oldest one there. As usual, I felt infinitely older than these people anyway, but I made conversation and had a good time. I mingled a bit with Mom and Ed. One of their acquaintances, a recently-divorced guy who’s about 42, marveled at the fact that he could have a decent conversation with a 24-year-old about Styx and Journey. That was cool. If he were a few years younger, I’d probably have flirted with him, but he’s a friend of my PARENTS’. Ew. He did, however, tell my mother that I am best-suited for men over 30.
The Visitor is over 30. Hmm...
Nah. Just kidding.
Anyway. We got home at midnight, and we had to be up at 6 to catch the frou-frou fency-shmency bus to New York, where we planned to meet Grandmom for Mother’s Day. This is why I believe I am a sick masochist with no concern for my own mental health. We arrived at 10 am (the bus made excellent time) and there was a whole argument about whether we should even bother standing in the TKTS line because of our time constraints. Mom kept going on about how “disappointed” I would be, etc., and I said, “Look, I’m disappointed, but I understand, so it’s not a huge deal. I can come back.” And she kept apologizing. Fine. Then she complained about the weather. It was disgusting, sure, but it was just misty and not cold, and Mom pulls out the umbrella, then she complains that it’s not doing anything. Put the umbrella down, I said. She wouldn’t. I got to hear all day about how horrible the weather was. Oy. Can we do anything about this? No. So please stop and get on with it. And cross the street in a quick, deliberate manner. And no stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to confer. I also learned that my mother cannot let 36 hours go by without telling me to see a dermatologist and fluff up my hair. Thanks.
Brunch was great, though. When we got to the restaurant and Mom realized the menu was prix fixe, she got all agitated because of Grandmom’s picky eating habits. My grandmother is a tough cookie. She also recognizes that she has eating issues. So she can handle it. I was just happy to be sitting down and getting food. The food, by the way, was MARVELOUS. The service was great too—efficient, polite and smiling, which is important. I hate pretentious staff in restaurants. Make eye contact with me. Smile. I won’t patronize you, I promise. These people were awesome. I also ate this bowl of fantastic chicken soup that had the biggest matzo ball I had EVER SEEN. Huge, people. And GOOD. That matzo ball even prompted the people at the next table to turn around and gawk and chitchat. I love that—when you go to a fancy, popular restaurant with nice staff and patrons who are willing to laugh with you? It rocks. Guastavino’s on E. 59th. I highly recommend it. The bar looked good, too. I also had molten chocolate cake for dessert, which my mother promptly referred to as “cum cake”. EWEWEWEW. But she was right on.
We also went to the Terence Conran shop, where I drooled over the yuppie home accessories. I amused myself by stroking a cherry dresser for five minutes. It was bliss.
We went shoe-shopping. I hate shoe-shopping. I hate shoe-shopping with other people, because other people are always too slow. Plus it was crowded. We were there for over an hour so Grandmom could buy her Pumas.
My mother, I realized, is incapable of two things. One, she is incapable of listening to an opinion. Several times yesterday I would say that I liked something, and she would hear the opposite. Or SHE would like something and express shock and dismay when I disagreed. She also takes disagreements like that as a personal affront. You can’t make an observation in my house without getting jumped on. Second, she is incapable of expressing her own wishes. If she has to go to the bathroom, she’ll ask me if I need to go to the bathroom. If she wants a cup of coffee, she’ll ask me if I want coffee. She will never say, “I need to make a pit stop” or “I could use a cup of coffee.” Oy. It’s harrowing, especially since I’m the type to say, “I’m starving, let’s get a hot dog.”
Mmmm.... hot dogs.....
We walked around a lot. Not much else, really, but it was nice spending time with them. As crazy as they are (well, as crazy as Mom is, my grandmother is normal), it was still a nice time. I just have to remember that if I want to continue to enjoy my mother’s company, I have to learn to LIMIT our time together. Severely.
