First of all, before you read this blog, you must raise your right hand and promise: I will never, under any circumstances, even under threat of being forced to eat broccoli every day for the rest of my life, breathe a word of any of this to Kathi's mother. NOT ONE WORD. Pinky swear. If I squeal, I can never have chocolate (or whatever your favorite sweet is) again. Amen.
I'm waiting.
If you can't do it, just log off, okay?
There.
Now, for those of you who are left, this is the truth. My mother can be rather, well, shall we say, um, critical.
Of me.
In the last few months I have been told:
1. I must be getting shorter, because when you start to get old, like I am doing, you lose height. (I am still five ft. eight in., thankyouverymuch)
2. I am going bald. (she was in the back seat of my car and my hair was wet and my cowlick [yes I have two] was parting in the back.)The next day I asked my Bible Study group to pray for me because I was going bald. They looked at me like I was crazy. That's because I am.
3. Yesterday, I was told I should go to her closet, because she was sure "there were a lot of clothes in there I could wear since I've gained all 'that' weight. (she's 5 ft 4 in. Maybe. I'm sure her polyester elastic pants will fit just fine. I'll call them Capri's). I weigh the same thing I've weighed since 2003 when I lost twelve pounds after retiring, other than right after surgery when I liketa died and lost 44 pounds. But don't worry, I found 'em again.
So, I am short, fat and balding.
And there is, I swear, glee in her eyes when she says all this.
Good thing I am full of self confidence and I don't need to be defensive about any of it. At all. No. Really.
Anybody got one of those skinny mirrors I could borrow?
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