I wish I had good news to share about my mother's reaction to the psychedelic robe I made her this weekend.
Her response in a nutshell: "It's really not me."
She didn't want to take the robe home with her. (If that's not straight out of Emily Post, I don't know what is.) On the plus side, my mother willingly posed for photographs in it.
She acknowledged that the robe fit perfectly and said (when I asked) that she'd wear one just like it only in a solid color. As you can imagine, I'm rushing out to get that fabric this very minute.
Knowing my mother as I do, I wasn't very surprised. I guess when you're eighty (plus), you can stop pretending to like what you don't like. Which sort of makes sense but doesn't exactly endear you to others.
Like most parents, my mother is a mixed bag: she's loving in many ways but also a bit of a killjoy.
There is a moral here but I forgot what it is.
Have you ever made something for someone and they didn't even pretend to like it? If so, what was your response?
In closing -- Mothers! (exasperated palm slap to the forehead)
Have a great day, everybody!
|(Peter, Peter, Peter....)|