My Father's Daughter


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I am my mother

As if it wasn’t bad enough that at my 10-year high school reunion 2 people commented on how much I look like/act like my mother, but, now, last night, it was confirmed; I am morphing into Phyllis May. Phil and I were watching a show we had taped Friday night — Numb3rs; a cop show, suspense, drama (not completely unlike Law & Order) — and I FELL ASLEEP. I was cross-stitching (my Mom knits while watching TV), and I fell asleep sitting up on the couch, still holding onto my cross-stitch project. Classic Phyllis!

Sigh. I suppose that if I were pressed to be honest I would admit that there are much worse things in life. My Mom is truly one of my favourite people and it is a compliment to be told that I am like her (though it didn’t feel like it in high school when my bestest friends told me I walked like her). I really appreciate, respect, like, and look up to my Mom (well, when I’m sitting down and she’s standing).

But don’t tell her I said so. How will I still be able to blame her for everything wrong in my life if she knows I think she’s terrific? I’m very evolved — I’ve learned to blame my mother for everything, and I haven’t even been to a therapist! If I stop doing that I might have to take responsibility for my own life, and hello, it’s 2005, like, no one has done that for like a century.