Saturday, November 21, 2009

like mother unlike daughter

I'm listening to my mother rattle off on the phone to one of her girly friends about every detail of the brunch she had, down to the color of the napkins and the nailpolish the hostess was wearing, and I wonder how I could've come from her, because all I'm passive-agressively thinking in my head is "WHO.FUCKING.CARES?"

She's so fussy and has to talk about eveything she's doing before she does it, while she's doing it, and after she does it. She never shuts up. I love her to death but I just don't see it.

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