You'd think that by the time someone reaches their mid 80's, they'd be so over caring what other people think. Not so my mother. (Warning, a bit of a rant about my mother but bear with me, part of the reason I made this blog was so I could release my feelings -- especially feelings of anger, rather than turning them on myself as doing that would only cause me stress and more Fibromyalgia pain.)
I have several blogs and like to write about various things. Recently in one of them, I wrote about housework -- specifically housework I really really hate. My mother read it and took it as a reflection of her ability to train me, her daughter, to keep a "nice" house. Now come on, nobody is really interested in my blog. I also write for myself. It's fun. I crack myself up sometimes, even though maybe it's not funny to other people. In my mind, I am the second-coming of Erma Bombeck. As I said, in my mind.
Well my mom was telling me I shouldn't write this, I shouldn't write that. A "what WILL the neighbors think?!?" sort of thing with her I guess. She didn't actually say, "what will the neighbors think" -- but that is the kind of attitude she had about it.
Then she alluded to my house being messy, saying "it would be funnier if it wasn't true." Good God. She just doesn't get it. It's funny because it IS true. Plus, I'm going to get a laugh out of the lunacy that IS real life.
I told her if she didn't like it, she didn't have to read it. Nobody is holding a gun to her head telling her to read my damn blog. It doesn't reflect badly on her, and nobody connects my blog to her anyway.
BOOM.
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