I was afraid that a visit from my mother would mean much of the same that went on in Winnipeg. You know, fights about my language, my dress, who or who not I was sleeping with at the time, the fact that I should throw out my knee high black suede boots with the puke stains from drinking too much behind Royal Albert Hotel and the salt stains from the Winnipeg sidewalks between late October until mid-April...
So far, other than a mild tiff about her tip calculation at Terroni, a really horrifying conversation about T.I. vs. Ludacris, and a quick veto of my hairstyle, it ain't going so bad.
I forgot that with my mother here, I can finally enter Holt Renfrew without looking like I was lost and misplaced it for Honest Ed's. I know she'll replenish my Chanel face powder that is on the side of the highway somewhere between Madison & Detroit, my fancy Kiehl's face cleanser that I used up just before my three week mark in the big city, and hell, she'll probably insist that I buy the refreshing toner with salicylic acid as well.
"The city has certainly not done wonders for your complexion. Are you drinking enough water?"
She may have scoffed at my answer, "No, but does wine count?" but hell, she knew it was coming.
I don't really give my mum enough credit, but after all, how bad can she be? She looks great in fur, she tells truly inspiring innapropriate stories after a couple glasses of pinot (where do you think I got it?), and gave birth to me.
And I think I turned out okay.
