As a 6th grader, I had some serious angst.
My mother picked out the most frilly, most horrible dresses she could find for me. I had to share a room and bunk beds with my brother. I lost the school dance competition and my dad made me walk through a swarm of bees at the zoo, certain his theory of "if you leave them alone, they'll leave you alone" was true.
If I can find the photo of me in a frilly dress with bee stings on my face, I'll post it.
The cause of most of my angst, though - Madonna wasn't my mother.
I really, really wanted her to be.
Not that I didn't love my own mother (when she wasn't forcing me into dresses that made me look like I belonged on a plantation) - but Madonna was COOL.
She wore cones on her breasts. And sang songs with the word VIRGIN in it. She was famous, had a potty mouth and I was completely convinced that if Madonna was my mother, someone else would have to make my bed and no one would care if I hated quiche.
My mother always made quiche because it was healthy and fast and "damn it, you're gonna eat it WITHOUT asking what's for dessert."
My argument that quiche is nothing but cooked throw-up carried absolutely no weight.
Bottom line...Madonna wouldn't have made me eat quiche.
Now that I'm older, though, I'm glad Madonna isn't my mother.
The breast cones have been replaced by scary arm-veins and my daddy would change a lot.
Not to mention I'd probably have to babysit my own daddy and/or buy him beer until he was old enough to get it himself.
So I feel like I should say....I'm grateful for my mom.
And who knows, maybe one day she'll stop cooking quiche and start wearing cones on her breasts.
How cool would THAT be...