“Is that a new purse?”, she said with a glint of surprise in her eyes.
“Yup. Got it at the hardware store in Osoyoos – the one with everything.”
“Wow! It’s nice. It looks way better than those shopping bags you carry around.” Said with a slap-in-the-face-back-handedness that a critical, judgey mother only could.
To retaliate, I asked her if her hair looked more grey today than usual.
Adornment and style and clothes are a tricky one for me to articulate.
Growing up under the hyper-scrutinizing eye of my mother – any piece of clothing – anything done with our face, our hair – done or not done – wind-swept or combed straight, ponytail or not – all came with comment. Not the types of comments that make you feel safe and loved – the type of comments that build a lump in your throat as a 10, 11, 12, 13 – 17, 19, 25 year old – as you get dressed in the morning.
I have always been tall, well at least taller than average from Gr. 8 on. My feet were size 11 in Gr. 4…
I hated shopping and I sort of still do….
where rivers are born 