Sunday, March 8, 2009

Spring Break is neither Spring nor a Break. Discuss.

I totally ripped the title from Coffee Talk with Linda Richman, but that’s because it’s 100% appropriate for the current status of my spring break.

I just arrived in Cleveland last night, and it is already apparent that the weather will be anything but spring-like. The highs will be in the upper 40’s, the lows in the low 20’s. Right now I am curled up in bed with a space heater groaning next to me. It’s raining outside and there’s neither a blossoming flower nor a playful child in sight. This can’t be spring.

As for the “break” part, I have been more stressed since leaving St. Louis than I have been at any other point in the semester. The ten-hour car ride to Cleveland is unpleasant, especially for your bladder if you have a fear of public toilets. (I’m not ashamed. I know I’m not the only one out there).

I have only been home for eighteen hours, but I have already gotten into fights with both of the parental units. The first big blowout came when I greeted my mother. I hadn’t seen her in two months, and in that amount of time she managed to drastically change her hair. She told me a few weeks ago that she had gotten a haircut, but I wasn’t expecting what I encountered. She looked just like the mother I know and love, except with a furry lampshade framing her face. Purim isn’t for one more day…

Being the loving, honest daughter that I am, I straight-up told my mom that I didn’t like the hairstyle. Instead of taking the comment with grace, she told me that I am the only person who has not liked the cut. She has gotten nothing but compliments. Mere acquaintances were telling her that she looks ten years younger. Therefore, there must be something wrong with me.

I stood my ground firmly. After all, I want my mom to look good too. Perhaps I didn’t phrase my response very well, though— I suggested that everyone else was lying to her…or had gone temporarily blind…or had a penchant for Chia pets. You can see how the argument soon escalated to monstrous proportions.

While the argument cooled before either of us went to bed last night, the embers are still burning. Incendiary comments directed at me from the other side of the breakfast table included, “Watch out, that granola is loaded with calories” and “Why do you need WASH U written on your sweatpants? Don’t you think I know where you go to school?”

Deep breaths.

As for the big fight with Dad, that came this afternoon when he suggested that the whole family go shopping together. I have nothing against hanging out in public with the family; it’s just that clothing shopping in particular is hard to do with my father. In fifth grade he picked me out a pair of paisley-patterned spandex shorts. I wore them to school one time and was ridiculed about the size of my ten year-old thighs. Kids can be so cruel. And I have never taken my father’s fashion advice since.

Because I refuse to let Dad pick out clothes for me, he often finds himself sitting in a store, playing with his phone while Mom and I are in the dressing room. He can only play so many games of solitaire before he gets aggravated. Aggravated Dad (AggraDad) is the Hulk-like version of my gentle, mustached physician of a father. Display cases and dressing room doors alike are afraid of his wrath.

And so, I try to avoid encounters with AggraDad as much possible. When Dad asked me to go shopping today, I specifically told him that I’d prefer to go separately with Mom. I should’ve just stopped there, but I felt the need to explain my rebuff. While I never mentioned the term “AggraDad,” I did inform him that he tended to grow impatient in department stores.

I have learned a valuable lesson. AggraDad can tell when you are talking smack about him, and he can emerge just as quickly in your living room as he can in H&M. I won’t go into details, but the phrases “air of entitlement,” “professional fashionista,” and “retail daughter” were thrown about like javelins. All because I didn’t want his help in picking out a new pair of jeans?

Point is (javelins, get it?) spring break in Cleveland has been anything but a walk on sandy Hawaiian beaches. I am holding out hope for the rest of the week, though— eye doctor appointment on Tuesday, teeth cleaning on Thursday. At the very least I’ll get to catch up on my “Highlights” magazine. No spring break is complete without a little Goofus & Gallant.


Anonymous said...

wow next you need to post this in video format to make me laugh more

!JustDance said...

see! and you thought you wouldnt have time for creative reading.