… no matter how old you are.
Or at least that’s the way it seems sometimes.
I remember the first time I returned home after being away as a young adult. I had finally spread my wings and lived making my own choices … living my own life.
My parents, however, were stuck in that “she will always be ten years old to us” time warp.
So instead of acting as a somewhat mature adult, I found myself thrown back into childlike rules and expectations from them. And of course I was the good daughter.
I figured that, in time, these things would change. That I would be treated as a fully capable adult.
Not too long ago I came for a visit. And my parents wanted to go food shopping.
they: “Its time to go food shopping”
me: “OK. See you when you get back.”
they: “No, you are coming along.”
me: “I’d really rather take a nap.”
they: “You are coming shopping with us.”
me: (sighing) “OK, but let me drive. I have a four door car.”
they: “No, we are taking our two door car. You can crawl in back.”
Do I need to tell you how unflattering it is for an overweight sixty year old woman to crawl into the back seat of a sporty two door car?
(at the store)
mom: “Holly, why don’t you go over there and pick out a head of lettuce?”
me: (happy to help) “Sure, what kind?”
mom: “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Any one you pick is fine.”
me: (returning with head of lettuce) “Here it is”
mom: “No, not that one.”
me: (returning with another one) “Here it is”
mom: “No, not that one either.”
me: “Then WHICH one?”
mom: (picking up first one) “Here, THIS one is good.”
So it should have been no surprise at 7AM today that I was awakened by my Mom. I of course had asked to sleep in till 8AM or 9AM. I hadn’t gotten in until very late last night.
mom: “Can you help do (task 1) and (task 2) and (task 3) and come eat breakfast?”
me: “I’ll be glad to do (task 1) and (task 2) and (task 3) but I really would like to sleep another hour then.”
mom: “Thanks for helping out. Now you need to eat something.”
me: “I just ate that half a banana after I helped do …”
mom: “That doesn’t count. You have to eat a bagel.”
me: “I don’t need a bagel. I am really tired. I need an hour of sleep.”
mom: “You NEED to eat a BAGEL.”
me: “Honest, I am not hungry, I …”
mom: (hand to forehead) “I can’t take any stress! EAT THE BAGEL.”
I ate the bagel.
Time to leave to go to spend the day at the hospital. I suggested that I drive through quickly to get something light … something to munch on as we drove … so as not to have to eat at the hospital.
Not that I dislike hospital food you understand.
So I pulled into McDonald’s … decided to order some Fish Bites to see what they were like … but instead of getting a lot of everything, I ordered a Kids Meal. Just a little something to tide me over.
Emphasis on the word little.
“Is this a girl child? or a boy child?” crackled the speaker.
Flashes of all the times I had been treated as a child flashed through my mind, as I looked over at my Mom … and I started laughing.
“A girl child. A sixty year old girl child.” I responded.
Pulling up, the cashier was still laughing as I paid for my meal. She then ran up front to personally hand me my meal at the front window.
“Here you go, little girl” she laughed as she handed me the meal.
I pulled over to arrange things … checked out the fish bites … nothing to write home about … and laughed out loud as I saw the tiny order of fries.
Yes, it really only extended from my little finger to my index finger. Well, I did say Kids Meal.
Still not sure what I am going to do with my new Barbie In The Pink Shoes toy.