girlfiend

One last tidbit, just because.

One of my mother’s favorite things to do is to change the linens. Her house is never actually clean. (My house is never actually clean these days either, but my excuse is that I have three children, two cats and a man thwarting my efforts.) Her house always looks magazine ready, as things mean a great deal to her, but if this is any indication of her level of cleanliness, she only bought a broom, dustpan and brush after we bugged her about it. If you walk barefoot in her house, your feet will be black. She didn’t even have hand soap in her bathrooms until we complained about it. Anyway, she loves to make beds. She is good at it. They look beautiful.

When she told us where we were sleeping my mother told us the linens were freshly laundered. Iit never would have occurred to me to ask, but she seemed to take pleasure in saying the phrase freshly laundered that day. The bed, as always, was made, so even after changing the “freshly laundered” filthy crib sheet I didn’t think much of it. Later that night, after the hideous conversation with my mother and the subsequent loading of the car, Boyfiend got into bed and asked, “Why is there sand in the bed?” I didn’t know what he was talking about. “Put your hand here.” Sure enough, right in the middle of the bed, was a small pile of sand. In her freshly laundered linens.

Was it just another of her small, inconsequential lies? Or, like the missing clothes and the beach cart the workmen must have thrown away, was just a passive aggressive way to fuck with us?