Monday, October 29, 2012

Clean 'em and Weep

"I'm going to need you to clean the mirror in the bathroom," my mother said to me, trying to look extra pathetic while quickly whipstiching a ribbon to the top of my son's "STAY PUFT" hat.  "Oh, and the cabinet windows, the toilet, the lamps, the entry hall mirror and the sink."

I stopped in mid-bite of my delicious and super sinful Cam's Sandwich and stared at her.

"What? I laid the Windex out on the sink in there. Oh, and get the webber, too. The bug man said that the webs were key to keeping bugs out..." and with that she went back to her sewing.

My mother truly is an amazing person.  Rheumatoid has wracked her body, left her shortened, close to invalid and yet she still rules with an iron fist.  At 30(Plus) years old I am still bereft to know if a decision I have slaved over is "correct" until she tells me, her Branchland, WV twang, barely concealed, what I "should've done." But she truly is amazing.  The hill people to which she is kin have mastered the art of manipulation throughout the years.  Think Devil Anse and Charles Manson but less icky and scary.  So when she nodded her head to the left I knew that I had no choice.

She was like the Borg.

Resistance was futile.

So I did as I was told and cleaned the surfaces that were deemed my duties but, seeing as how she can't really turn her head very well, I failed to mention the fact that my 2.5 year old Angel had spent the hours following my cleaning spree standing in front of the hall mirror carefully, and meticulously licking it and rubbing a glazed donut in a large two by two square.

She may be an expert in manipulation but H4 is a master of Destruction.

Game, set. Match.


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