When we were kids, my brother and I had this really cute tradition that started when we realized that though every kid in America got a report card detailing how he was doing in school, no adults were being graded on their performance as parents!
We didn’t think that was fair, so we started giving my mom a montly report card, to let her know how she was doing as a mother. We didn’t give one to our father, because, as the household’s chief breadwinner, we felt that would be disrespectful.
Though she may have protested the practice in public, I think that my mom really did appreciate the tips on how she could better herself and indeed did start wearing more makeup around the home, which we felt made her a more professional representative of our family.
Well, as cute as that was back then, I’m almost 33 years old now and what isn’t cute is the FAILING GRADES my mother has been receiving on my monthly reports.
Look, this isn’t brain science. My mom lives 3000 miles away. I’m 33. Her duties aren’t that extensive.
1. Call me every night before (my) bedtime and sing me lullaby’s until I fall asleep. She complains that when I go to bed at 2 or 3, it’s right before the sun rises on the east coast, so she has been slacking off on this one. I guess I can sorta understand that, so I’ll give her a C. No, C-.
2. Buy me vitamins and shampoo and stuff like that. I’ve got plenty of shampoo, though not the kind I like and tell her to buy, because she has to get what’s on sale or use her stupid coupons; it’s the “stuff like that” part where she’s earning her failing grade.
That’s all she has to do!
She doesn’t have to clean my room (though she does have to pay for the maid I have do it for me now), she doesn’t have to make my lunch, I use her Citi card to buy that.
Am I wrong or should this not be super easy?
If you’re reading this, Mom, let me spell it out for you as plainly as possible:
I NEED MORE UNDERWEAR.
People need to wear underpants. I can’t be expected to buy my own. You haven’t sent me any in years.
Ynez keeps asking me if I want her to throw out the ones with holes in them.
This is tantamount to child abuse!
Some days, I’m forced to wear my Simpsons novelty Christmas boxers I got for my 19th birthday! My 19th birthday! That was like 6 years ago!
Half of what I wear on a daily basis was purchased before 9/11. You want to talk about “the day that everything changed?” How about “the day I changed into a new pair of underpants?” That’s what I want to talk about. And I don’t want “that day” to have been in 2003.
Maybe this is coming off as a little harsh, but when it comes to reverse-parenting, just like with regular parenting: you spare the rod, you spoil the child/parent.
And Mom, you are definitely coming off as somewhat of a spoiled brat. So get your act together or I will ship you off to a home.