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Who's Your Mama?

This morning a friend of mine posted something on Facebook that reminded me of a funny (in hindsight) story I thought was worth sharing. It is self sabotaging, but I'll take one for the team in the name of laughter.

Rewind about seven years. We owned an inn and my mornings were spent "working the dining room." On the morning (drink) of this incident, I was wearing no makeup - something I NEVER do in public (rarely in my own house for that matter). But I had no choice - I was scheduled for corrective eye surgery that afternoon, and the doctor had ordered a makeup free mug for five days prior to the operation. AND I had to wear my glasses which I hated, not only did I not like how they looked, but they annoyed the hell out of me. Every time (drink) I would unload a tray of dishes from the sanitizer (which I did a lot during my tenure as an innkeeper), they would fog up, reminding me that I was having an ugly day. Don't get me wrong - I think a lot of people rock the bespectacled look - I'm just not one of them.

So there I was - four-eyed Jill sans makeup - shmoozing with a couple, telling my life story for the zillionth time. Guests were always fascinated with my life for some reason, especially the fact that I have five kids, so (drink) it wasn't unusual for strangers to know more about me than some of my friends. I don't recall the exact conversation, but I must have mentioned that I had a son because later, they were checking out with James in the office and I overheard these very words, "oh! You must be Jill's son!" WTF? I bee-lined it for the bathroom where I locked myself in and ugly cried for ten minutes.

I finally pulled myself together - or so I thought. As soon as I stepped out into the kitchen, there stood my father-in-law - he was my chauffeur for the surgery. You know how there are some people who trigger your emotions? Like when someone asks if you're okay (drink) and you're not and you're trying really hard to keep it together, but those words of compassion put you over the edge and on come the water works? This happens to Cynthia all the time. She's a sensitive soul, but hates for anyone to see a display of emotion. She'll take a tumble and stoically hold it together, fighting back tears because she finds public crying embarrassing. I'll try to comfort her and ask if she's okay, but she won't have it. If I force the issue (which I sometimes do because she needs to learn that it's healthy to shed a tear every once in awhile), she'll melt down just like I do when someone tries to be nice in a moment of anguish.

But I digress. The point is, I took one look at Big Lou and burst into tears again. He must have thought someone died or something. He took me in his arms and I bawled, big gulping sobs with snot and everything. When (drink) I finally composed myself enough to talk, I managed to spit out, "someone thought James was my son!" I could feel him relax, relieved that my outburst was an issue of vanity and not death.

I got over it eventually. I even tell the story from time to time relishing the complimentary reactions. Were they insane? How could they think James was your son? You look so young! What wrinkles? Maybe they need corrective eye surgery! Please don't feel compelled to comment (drink) similarly on this post. I'm over it. And I truly don't think I look old enough to be James's mother. As long as I'm wearing makeup.

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