Resignation of a Tactless Cretin
by Susie Lloyd in Family on Monday, March 29, 2010 6:00 AM
We have beautiful daughters. “Of course,” you say, “YOU think so. You’re their mother.” True. But it’s a fact that has been verified by numerous friends and strangers. There is also a steady stream of boys wearing happy-to-see-you faces to convince me it’s true.
I’ll admit up front that I take some credit for this. I have helped them to be beautiful. Being a Catholic homeschooler has many advantages but it has one glaring disadvantage—the tendency toward frumpdom.
Why? First, there’s the whole modesty issue. You just can’t wear certain trends. Second, being home, it’s easy to miss the latest thing that “all the other kids are wearing.” Third, Catholic homeschoolers often have dads (a good thing to have) who want them to be elegant, i.e. leave the house in a hat, gloves, and string of June Cleaver pearls. Fourth, Catholic homeschoolers often come from large, one income families. Hence, the favorite fashion label is “Thrift Store.”
I’ve seen it as one of my maternal duties to teach the girls the balance between tight jean trendiness and fat skirt frumpiness. And while it’s true that I cut their hair myself when they were little, I hung up the shears when they turned about thirteen and drove them to a real hairdresser. For Christmas and birthdays I’ve paid for blond highlights and ear piercing. I usually present department store gift cards rather than trust my forty-something fashion sense for them. Time was I’d go pull a “cute sweater” off the rack only to hear a decided, “Yuck!” Once in awhile I do risk having another daughter pick something out for her sister for me. But I always assure the recipient that returning it would cause me no heartache. I remember my own guilt at that furry lavendar sweater my mother gave me. I felt like I was putting a stake in her heart when returned it.
I often compliment the girls too—which for me is an acquired skill. I was brought up the way St. Therese was, to hear no compliments lest vanity pervert my mind. It worked beautifully for St. Therese who came from a provincial village and I’m betting never saw a copy of Seventeen in her life. It didn’t work for me. Vanity simply took another form in wounded self-esteem. So I have made sure to tell the girls how lovely they are – especially when they’ve done their hair or put on a cute skirt or are going out.
Pretty good record, if I do say so myself. Except that ... I am also a tactless cretin.
These are girls we’re talking about here. This means that the only real answer to the question: “How do I look?” is always: “Wonderful.” Any attempt to point out that a certain cut doesn’t work for a certain figure, or that hair would look better with shorter layers, or that the flat shoes do not flatter the legs is a gross insult. Okay, I did say they looked like pillars. Mea culpa.
Now I personally would rather avoid pillar legs if I could possibly help it, just as I’d like to know before leaving the house if I look fat in a dress or washed out in a certain color. As I age, it’s getting easier to commit fashion mistakes. My figure, hair, and complexion are now a challenge that they never were when I was twenty years younger. So is my style. It has to walk a line as fine as the ones appearing on my face. Not too frumpy, not too hip. My kids tell me pretty freely whenever I fail to look like a proper mother and I don’t take offense. Hey, I’ll lose the fishnets and chains no problem. Cancel the tattoo? Sure, right away.
However, should I be asked for an opinion, certain rules apply. I tried to explain them to a male reader of my Facebook fan page who suggested that I can’t be that tactless if the kids keep asking for my opinion. He is obviously working off male rules.The rules for female interaction run thusly: 1) You may say I look good. 2) You may not say I could look better if I did something different. 3) If I ask for your opinion, I am merely seeking confirmation. 4) For list of unacceptable comments, please see back flap of my brain. And so on.
I can’t hold it against them, though. I was the same way at their age. One time I sprayed myself all over with expensive perfume – not realizing that it had spoiled. It was already strong stuff. I came downstairs from my room reeking like an old lady in church. (The kind who leave lipstick on a cup.) My mother blinked back the tears. She wasn’t upset. It was the fumes. She tried to tell me it was spoiled. I insisted it was expensive. Both of us missed the middle possibility that it could be… both spoiled and expensive. She finally said, “Well then it must not go with your body chemistry.” I bristled against this insult to my body chemistry. What had my body chemistry ever done to her? Stubbornly I walked around in a cloud of that syrup for some time afterwards. Mom left me alone – and so did the neighborhood bloodhounds.
I am now resolved to leave my girls alone as well. Yes, on this day I tender my resignation. Both kinds. I leave this position with full confidence in my successors. There are three gorgeous grown girls to take my place in dispensing fashion insults to one another and the three girls who come after them. My work is done.
—Senior writer Susie Lloyd’s latest book is Bless Me Father For I Have Kids.
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