Sunday, May 08, 2005
Happy Mother's Day to my fellow Disney Villainesses
See, I realize that Mother's Day is a Hallmark Holiday. In fact, the pre-emininent Hallmark Holiday, superceded only by "Sweetest Day," (whatever the hell that is.)
But does this knowledge prevent me from enjoying Mother's Day? The day in which I am celebrated for doing what I would be doing anyway? Hell, no. I take full advantage. There is loot involved here, people.
Oh, how I enjoy the slow build-up in the post-Easter print media. They put the pastel bunny-related items to rest and almost immediately start filling the newspaper with advertisements for fine jewelry, chocolates, perfume, flowers, and designer bags. An almost palpable amount of guilt begins to build up in my husband. About a week before Mother's Day, I'll compound the guilt by mentioning the fact that it would be a good idea if he ordered flowers for his mother and stepmother.
By the Thursday before Mother's Day, I spring whatever trap I have set for the year. For several years I've told him that I don't want a present per se; what I'd really like is an afternoon where he watched the kids and I went shopping. Believe it or not, he would actually prefer to let me wander solo through a series of luxury department stores rather than have to do it himself, even though the latter would allow him some control over the credit cards.
This year I simplified things even more. I decided that what I wanted was the Hermes scarf in pale blue with a pattern of rocking horses, and since it was available on line, I called him up and asked him whether he had anything in mind for my Mother's Day present. A brief but stricken silence ensued. Then I assured him that I had the perfect present in mind. He was so relieved that it didn't occur to him to ask me how much it would cost. So I hung up and ordered the scarf.
Also, later today the four of us will be heading to a private club for the annual Mother's Day brunch. Other than getting free loot, I enjoy nothing more than the prospect of getting me and my children all dressed up so I can go out and swan around in my role of Well-Bred, Well-Dressed Mother of Well-Dressed, Well-Behaved, Well-Bred Children accompanied by their Adoring, Youthful Father with Great Hair. It's kind of a Jacqueline Kennedy scenario, although this version of Jackie is a lot older and a lot less slim.
Now personally, this is my revenge--not on the husband and children, although I'll grant that they are the ones who suffer the most from my villainy--but on a society that sees fit to honor me and my fellow matriarchs only one day a year. And honors us for what--suffering the pangs of childbirth? Packing a few lunches? Driving the minivans? No, for being what we are. What's next, Brunette Day?
Well, personally, the pangs of childbirth weren't all that bad. OK, they weren't a full-body massage, but honestly, I've had dental work that was more excruciating. As for the rest of it--well, as I said, I'd be doing it anyway, so what the hell--I'll take advantage of the good will or guilt or whatever.
And by some time next year, I'm going to figure out how to move in on this whole Sweetest Day scam.