I went to the supermarket today, still in my pajamas. I kept my sunglasses on because, like you, I tend to hide my eyes when there isn’t any make up there. Half way down the isle, I wanted more than anything to take my bra off. (I then laughed, and wondered, how often has my mother done the same exact thing I am doing right now)
I went to the supermarket to buy you a Mother’s day card. I found an orange one with sparkles, that told me that my mother is my best friend. But I figured you knew that. More so, I figured that orange, let alone sparkles aren’t exactly your thing.
This was supposed to be a poem. I guess you can consider it one in some respects. But just bare with me.
So I decided not to buy the card.
I decided to write one instead.
(Can you believe they cost 5.95?)
…and yes I did leave the supermarket with a pack of cigarettes. And yes I just said that after you thought it.
But what can I tell you that a flimsy overprice piece of paper cant?
Obviously you know I love you.
Obviously you know we’re best friends.
Obviously you are my mother.
But that’s the funny thing about mothers, about friends, about family.
You’re stuck with family…it teaches you to love someone unconditionally.
Your friend, however, teaches you who you deserve
and above all, holds a mirror up to your own soul.
Without you, I am nothing.
Even if that something is a young girl in the supermarket putting back the Hallmark card, to write her mother a letter.
Thanks Ma,
love ya.
-Brit.
