Mom

My mother sends me makeup in the mail.

I believe it is in an attempt to whore myself up so I can attract a dude to marry and spit out some grand kids.

This does not make her evil, though. Her heart is in the right place.

The package that arrived today was wrapped like it was full of top government secrets. One padded envelope inside another inside another inside a plastic bag inside another padded envelope inside some tissue paper.

In the middle of all this:

– 1 framed photo of the wedding party from my seester’s Jersey wedding.
– 1 Clinque Stay Beige Pressed Powder Compact.
– 1 Mini Lip Gloss
– 1 Lancome Eye Shadow (I think? This is how retarded I am when it comes to these things).
– 1 brown Coach wristlet
– 1 random pair of blue boxer shorts

In all her misguided gift givings through the years she means so well that I cannot fault her for not knowing that I don’t do Coach and I don’t wear makeup. Or boxer shorts.

But some days, contrary to popular belief, I miss her.

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