sashinka | observation orientated, with a twist of lime | a blog

So I get off the train Friday night in Stockport - I've come home for the weekend for my cousin's Bat Mitzvah. My mum meets me at the station, and says, "trousers? Aren't you changing? It's Friday night?" and I reply, "don't you mean, what a pleasure to have you home, Sasha, darling?", We get home and have a quick cup of tea before we go to my sister's for dinner. As I stand up, she says, "your trousers, are they supposed to be short? Or are they hanging funny?" I shlep them down a little. When I sit down, my mum says, "a hole? Is that a hole in your top?"

I ask my mum if there are any other imperfections she'd like to point out. "You don't understand," she replies, "I don't have anyone to tell me these things any more, with Mummy and Auntie Vera gone."

"Mum," I tell her, "your top doesn't go with your skirt," (it does, actually, but I can't find anything wrong that I'd like to draw her attention to). She smiles. "and mum, your hair's not as bouffant as it usually is." "I know. The hairdresser's on holiday."