After yesterday’s (Monday) events, I thought that I would have a different perspective on my relationship with my momma. And to an extent, I do. Actually, since my father’s been sick, I’ve had a different perception of my mother. But the shit that has really pissed me off has happened within the last Four days. My birthday was on Friday. My mom called me at work to ask if I was coming home before going to the Ball game, I told her that I was but only to change clothes. She said that she hadn’t gotten my birthday cake and didn’t see the need to get one since I wasn’t coming home. (Footnote: Every birthday, every year, every member of the family gets a strawberry shortcake from Neldam’s bakery. It’s been a long standing family tradition) When she said this, I was blown. I got to my parents’ house and she was fussing (because that’s what she does) and told me to go get my cake out of her car and to take it to the Ball park. What the fuck? Why the hell would I take my birthday cake to the ballpark when it’s a family tradition? She then proceeds to yell how she is mad as hell that she didn’t get a birthday cake for the last two years and she was not going to forget it as long as she was alive! Are you fucking serious! You choose my birthday to fucking fuss about a birthday cake from March! How the fuck do you do that to someone? I was so shaken up, I couldn’t even think straight. I put the cake in their refrigerator and went home to get ready for the baseball game. But I was so blown.
Oh wait, I forgot! Either Wednesday or Thursday, I was sitting in my parents’ living room talking about my upcoming birthday. My dad asked me what I wanted for my birthday. The only thing I really want is my Cole Haan pumps (black, patent leather peep toe the only problem is that they are $300! Yikes!) My mother says to my father (in front of me) if you buy her some $300 shoes, I’ll break your fuckin’ legs. Wow, over some shoes? Really! That’s a cold blooded game in the streets.
So let’s recap, even before my birthday, you’re hating on my gift from my father, on my birthday you want to talk about YOUR birthday and what YOU didn’t get. Caught up, good.
(Footnote: I made the elaborate plan for my birthday – drink, dance, eat – repeat! I didn’t tell my parents’ about it because they never want to do anything that I like to do, even if it is my birthday.)
Oh I forgot to mention since, we’re talking about what does and doesn’t happen for birthdays. Apparently, the family tradition is to go out to dinner, the birthday person gets to decide. I haven’t been taken out for my birthday yet! And I’ve been home for FIVE FUCKING YEARS! I digress…
So I decided to go ahead and just get ready for my birthday. Everything after that point seemed to be cool. That was Friday.
So after Friday, I wake up Saturday morning with a friendly reminder that I am not pregnant, not like that would be a concern, but you know. (Footnote: why is it men over the age of 21, seem to have a problem when a woman mentions that she’s on her period. Dawg, you’re married with a daughter! Don’t act like you’ve never heard about a woman having a damn period!) I had somewhere to be on Saturday morning and I actually pulled myself together to make it happen. But why is it that my mom thinks that my sole purpose in life is to do the things that she doesn’t want to do. No, boo boo! It doesn’t work that way. Because she forgot my dad’s dialysis snacks and she didn’t want to take them to him, she felt like I should do it. Negative ghost rider! I did the rest of the stuff that I had going on for the day and didn’t pay her any mind.
Now we’re at Sunday. I put together a pretty nice outfit. My long white floral dress, my black cardigan and some pink flip flops. (There's a picture for your viewing pleasure) I felt like this was more that appropriate to wear to church especially since I wasn’t singing. My mother disagreed. Did she come to church, no? Was it because of my flip flops? Who knows. She really wasn’t pleased with my pink flip flops, which matched my dress to a T! Whatever. So fast forward to Sunday night, I said that I wanted to cut my cake at 7pm. Please tell me why, we didn’t cut the cake until damn near 7:30! And on top of that, I stood around looking stupid because no one wanted to sing Happy Birthday. (Footnote: if I acted the way everyone else acted about my birthday it would have been a major problem. Maybe I should start acting like these simpletons! Why the fuck is it when it comes to me it’s a fucking problem but let it be your shit and I am all about accommodating your punk ass – mostly my mom and my silly ass brothers. My dad seems to do fine with it. I guess I get it from him.) The birthday person should never have to start singing Happy Birthday to Me! Who does that? Camille Michelle Harvey. So I cut the cake, take my pieces of it and go home.
You would think the foolishness would stop. Nope. So Monday, I get home from work and my mother first asked me what I was going to wear with my shoes. I told her that I would wear whatever, which is fair because they are basic black pumps. No need to do anything fancy. She decided to say that she was going to get me a whole new outfit to wear with them. Cool, spend your money, Ms. Honey. Then she decides to start talking about some kids who got in trouble for wearing flip flops to the White House and how there is a certain protocol and shit. What the fuck are you talking about? Then she starts talking about what people from our old church would say about my flip flops. Ma, I don’t give a damn. And that’s basically what I told her. If you have a problem with something I am wearing, please feel free to make a contribution to my wardrobe by replacing it. I am not the one who gets hella caught up in what other people say or think about me, especially if they can’t verbalize it to me. The point was, she didn’t like the idea that I had on flip flops. But rather than say all that, she wanted to give some historical protocol bullshit about something that I could give a damn about anyway. If you don’t like it, say so. I’m still an adult so I wear what the fuck I want to!
And finally, I am on my way home from work today (Tuesday, yes, Tuesday). She calls me and asks if I took her spaghetti. Now, I have told my mother time again, if I take something from her, 9 times out of 10, I tell her OR she’ll see me take it so it’s not a big surprise when it comes up missing. I told her that I didn’t have it. As I am coming from the direction of Safeway, she is heading towards Safeway, I would imagine to get some spaghetti. I get to my parents’ house and see a nice huge pot of spaghetti sauce on the stove and some Italian Sausage on the counter. Hell yeah! I wanted some spaghetti! All good. I had a couple of spoonfuls of spaghetti (I really can eat it all by itself) and then I go into the living room to talk to my dad. My dad basically says that my mother thinks I lied about taking the spaghetti and I was mad at her. For real! I’m done! As I’ve already stated, if I am gonna take something you’ll know (except for the purple egg slicer, I didn’t say anything about that). But you’re gonna accuse me of lying about taking some spaghetti. I’m done. I was so mad, that I turned on my Wii Fit Plus and definitely got a great work out in. Now I am sitting in my kitchen, banging this blog out and ready to hop in the shower. I’m gonna try and get out of town this weekend because I don’t want to deal with the silly shit. Me and my momma.
#thatisall