Hey everyone, it's me.
Yeah, I know I haven't posted anything in a while - I decided to wait a bit and see what I could think up. Well, I've given my beginning a bit of a rewrite, and I was wondering - how does it look now?
It all started at my Cousin Eddie's bar mitzvah.
Well, that's not quite true. It certainly HAPPENED at the bar mitzvah, but it didn't START there. I guess it would be more accurate to say it all started the day we got the invitation.
I remember it so well, if only for the way Mum reacted. Of course, everyone who lived near us probably remembers it – after all, it’s not every day a 40-something woman starts screaming and jumping in the air like an idiot the minute she reads a piece of card. I swear, when I looked out of the window and saw her, I nearly died of embarrassment.
I leaned against the table as she re-entered the caravan. “Anything good?”
She held up embossed and gilded piece of card. “We’ve been invited to attend Edward Blumenstein’s bar mitzvah!”
I tried to resist the urge to roll my eyes at that. I shouldn’t have been surprised – Mum’s always been a party person, although HOW she was planning to get boozed up at a bar mitzvah was beyond me. Then again, I probably wouldn’t be surprised at the result – she’s the sort of person who could turn a funeral wake into a proper blowout – heck, even if the world was coming to an end, she’d crank the music high, start swigging the vodka, and dance until the planet finally crumbled into little pieces.
I, on the other hand, was trying to figure out how I could convince her not to go. It wasn't that I had anything against Eddie himself - he's ok as far as cousins go, I guess, even if he does have a habit of talking in his sleep (and I know this first hand, having been forced to share a room with him for 3 years of my life) - I'm just not a social person. In fact, if you gave me a choice of staying home curled up with a book and going out clubbing on a Friday night, I’d chose the former every single time. As for Facebook and Twitter, I wouldn’t know how to use them if my life depended on it, so I’m hoping it never does.
I tried pointing out why we should stay at home - after all, we're not Jewish, and it’s not like we’re all that close to Uncle Jed and Aunt Eliza, (in fact, aside from the usual exchange of cards at birthdays and Christmas/Hanukkah, the last time we saw each other was at my grandmother's funeral 9 months ago) - but there was no deterring her. "Vanessa," she said, practically planning what we should wear even as she said it, "this is an important day for your cousin, and we should all be there to show our support. Besides, it will do you good to get out of the house and socialize. They’ll be other children there.”
This time I DID roll my eyes. “Yes there will, and they’ll all be people EDDIE knows, none of whom I’ll ever see again, so really, what’s the point? Anyway, I’ll probably just end up doing what I always do at parties – sit in a corner by my lonesome.”
“You will do no such thing! I may not be smart, but I know there’s more to a bar mitzvah than sitting around. And you might find someone nice to talk to, like at your grandmother’s wake.”
“Mum, the guy was 70 years old AND a pervert! He spent half the day staring down the front of my dress!”
“Well, maybe if you’d worn something less revealing…”
“It wasn’t revealing! And another thing –” But she’d already left the room. Typical – whenever she’s in the wrong, she walks out.
But that wasn’t the worst part, oh no – she insisted on dragging me around the shops to find something to wear; something other than “the tatty Gothic stuff you insist on wearing”. She just can’t seem to get it into her head that it’s not a phase I’m going through. If there’s anything I hate more than socializing, it’s shopping, which is why I ended up sitting on a stool in a changing room wearing only my underwear while she browsed for some stupid outfit she expected me to wear at this whole shenanigan.
Right on cue, she walked in carrying a lime-green dress with a frilly collar. I swear, I’m not joking. Don’t ask me where she got a lime-green dress, because for the life of me I couldn’t tell you. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“And just what’s wrong with this dress?”
“Besides the fact it’s hideous?”
“It is not.”
“Mum, it’s lime-green. LIME-GREEN.”
“Nothing wrong with green.”
“That’s not the –” Before I could say anything else, she shoved it over my head, forcing me to wear it.
Well, is it ok? Or should I make some changes? If I should, what changes should I make?