I am haunted . . . haunted by the spectre of the dream of a prom that I know now will never be. Never will I, dressed in off-one-shoulder black, rest my head upon the shoulder of Michael (in a tux) at his Senior Prom. Never will I enjoy the stale cookies he mentioned, nor the look on Lana Weinberger's face when she sees that she is not the only freshman girl besides Shameeka in attendance.
My prom dream is over. And so, I am afraid, is my life.
Sunday, May 4, 9 a.m., the Loft
It is very hard to be sunk in the black well of despair when your mother and stepfather get up at the crack of dawn and put
on The Donnas while making their breakfast waffles. Why can't they go quietly to church to hear the word of the Lord, like
normal parents, and leave me to wallow in my own grief? I swear it is enough to make me contemplate moving to Genovia.
Except, of course, there I would be expected to get up and go to church as well. I guess I should be thanking my lucky stars that my mother and her husband are godless heathens. But they could at least turn it DOWN.
Sunday, May 4, Noon, the Loft
My plan for the day was to stay in bed with the covers up over my head until it was time to go to school on Monday morning. That is what people who have had their reason for living cruelly snatched from them do: stay in bed as much as possible.
This plan was unfairly destroyed, however, by my mother, who just came barrelling in (at her current size, she can't help but barrel everywhere she goes) and sat down on the edge of the bed, nearly crushing Fat Louie, who had slunk down underneath the covers with me and was snoozing at my toes. After screaming because Fat Louie had sunk all his claws into her rear end, right through my duvet, my mom apologized for barging in on my grief-stricken solitude, but - she said - she thought it was
time we had A Little Talk.
It is never a good thing when my mom thinks it is a time for A Little Talk. The last time she and I had A Little Talk, I was forced to listen to a very long speech about body image and my supposedly distorted one. My mother was very worried that
I was contemplating using my Christmas money for breast-enhancement surgery, and she wanted me to know what a bad idea she thought this was, because women's obsession with their looks has got completely out of control. In Korea, for instance, thirty per cent of women in their twenties have had some form of plastic surgery, ranging from cheekbone and jawbone shaving to eye slicing and calf-muscle removal (for slimmer calves) in order to achieve a more Western look. This as opposed to three per cent of women in the US who have had plastic surgery for purely aesthetic purposes.
The good news? America is NOT the most image-obsessed country in the world. The bad news? Too many women outside our culture feel pressured to change their looks to better emulate ours, thinking Western standards of beauty are more important than their own country's, because that is what they see on old reruns of shows like Baywatch and Friends. Which
is wrong, just wrong, because Nigerian women are just as beautiful as women from LA or Manhattan. Just maybe in a
different way.
As awkward as THAT chat had been (I was not contemplating using my Christmas money for breast-enhancement surgery: I was contemplating using my Christmas money for a complete set of Shania Twain CDs, but of course I couldn't ADMIT that
to anyone, so my mom naturally thought it was something to do with my boobs), the one we had today really takes the cake
as far as mother/daughter talks go.
Because of course today was THE mother/daughter talk. Not the 'Honey, your body is changing and soon you'll have a different use for those sanitary napkins of mine you stole to make into beds for your Star Wars action figures' talk. Oh no. Today was the 'You're fifteen now and you have a boyfriend and last night my husband caught you and your little friends playing Seven Minutes in Heaven and so I think it's time we discussed You Know What' talk.
I have recorded our conversation here as best I could so that when I have my own daughter I can make sure NEVER, EVER to say any of these things to her, remembering how INCREDIBLY AND UTTERLY STUPID THEY MADE ME FEEL WHEN MY OWN MOTHER SAID THEM TO ME. As far as I'm concerned, my own daughter can learn about sex from the Lifetime Movie Channel for Women, like everybody else on the planet.
Mom: Mia, I just heard from Frank that Lilly and her new friend Jambo—
Me: Jangbu.
Mom: Whatever. That Lilly and her new friend were, er, kissing in our hall closet. Apparently, you were all playing
some sort of make-out game, Five Minutes in the Closet—
Me: Seven Minutes in Heaven.
Mom: Whatever. The point is, Mia, you're fifteen now. You're pretty much an adult, and I know that you and Michael are very much a couple. It's only natural that you'd be curious about sex ... perhaps even experimenting—
Me: MOM!!!! GROSS!!!!!!!!!
Mom: There's nothing gross about sexual relations between two people who love one another, Mia. Of course I would prefer it if you waited until you were older. Until you were in college, maybe. Or your mid-thirties, anyway. However,
I know only too well what it is like to be a slave to your hormones, so it's important that you take the appropriate precau—
Me: I mean, it's gross to talk about it with my MOTHER.
Mom: Well, yes, I know. Or rather, I don't know, since my own mother would have sooner dropped dead than have mentioned any of this to me. However, I think it is important for mothers and daughters to be open with one another about these things. For instance, Mia, if you ever feel that you need to talk about birth control, I can make you an appointment with my gynaecologist, Dr Brandeis—
Me: MOM!!!!!!!!!!!!! MICHAEL AND I ARE NOT HAVING SEX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mom: Well, I'm glad to hear that, honey, since you are a bit young. But if the two of you should decide to, I want to make
sure you have all your facts straight. For instance, are you and" your friends aware that diseases like AIDS can be
transmitted through oral sex as well as—
Me: YES, MOM, I KNOW THIS. I AM TAKING HEALTH AND SAFETY THIS SEMESTER, REMEMBER?????
Mom: Mia, sex is nothing to be embarrassed about. It is one of the basic human needs, such as water, food and social interaction. It is important that if you choose to become sexually active, you protect yourself.
Oh, you mean like you did, Mom, when you got knocked up by Mr Gianini? Or by DAD?????
Only of course I didn't say this. Because, you know, what would be the point? Instead I just nodded and went, 'OK, Mom. Thanks, Mom. I'll be sure to, Mom,' hoping she'd finally give up and go away.
Only it didn't work. She just kept hanging around, like one of Tina's little sisters whenever I'm over at the Hakim Babas' and Tina and I want to sneak a look at her dad's Playboy collection. Really, you can learn a lot from the Playboy adviser, from what kind of car stereo works best in a Porsche Boxter to how to tell if your husband is having an affair with his personal assistant. Tina says it is a good idea to know your enemy, which is why she reads her dad's copies of Playboy whenever she gets the chance . . . though we both agree that, judging from the stuff in this magazine, the enemy is very, very weird.