June 07, 2004
My mother would dress me in some piece of pastel fluff all beribboned and bowed, and possibly furbelowed if I knew what that meant. Bits of lace, and roses and nice white or black party shoes. As the first born this was, of course, a particular undertaking on the part of my mother; she had not yet reached the state of benign neglect.
So prior to each party I was done up so pretty; my hair nicely brushed and everything in place. Then she would send her little Cinderella off to sit on the porch to wait the carriage; otherwise known as my Aunts station wagon, to take me to the ball where there was nary a healthy piece of food in sight. This by the way was befor Cinderella's and Prince Charmings were being snatched from porches. We were safe. This was not a sign of neglect.
My poor mother however, this Cinderella liked the ashes better, and despite warnings and pleas I would always enter the carriage looking more like Cinderalla after the mean step-sisters destroyed the dress.
Poor mom. Especially as Aunts son was ever the Prince Charming. It is likely that even after the party his outfit was unmessed.
So my mother got a great idea. Perhaps a fairy godmother was needed. ie, she would reamain with me, in sight, on the porch and then lead me to the carriage. Only proper for royalty.
So I sat there while she watched and waited; then she took me to the car BY THE HAND, happily smiling the whole way. This time Cinderella would stun the ball.
My Aunt leaned out of the car and asked; Rachel! What did you do to your dress!
Yes folks, there it was, a big stain on my dress; at six I could have probably thrown a stone from the porch to the car and not missed, yet somehow someway there I went off to the ball, once again a mess.
And once again proving that kids are sent to drive their parents insane.
I should know that after five of them.