I blame my mother for lots of things.
I blame her for showing me that every meal you serve needs a salad, grain, vegetable, and starch.
I blame her for teaching me to avoid eye contact with unsavory characters.
I blame her for telling me that the only correct dryer setting is ‘muy seco.’
My mother knows that I blame her for all this and more. In fact, she readily accepts the blame and might even glory in it. She has always been so ready to accept responsibility that I had no idea there was a limit to what she’d take credit for. But there is a limit, and I reached it.
“Flashdance is a great movie. Why did you never show it to us?” I asked my mom, accusingly, after a sick day in bed lead me to finally watch that 80s dance classic.
“You never watched Flashdance?” asked the mother who once insisted that I wear off-the-shoulder shirts to dance class, because that’s what they wear in the movie. “Why have you never seen it?”
“Because you never got it out for us!” I blamed her.
Her response was immediate and pointed: “You’re 26. You’ve been out of the house for a long time. This isn’t my fault.”
She’s right. This one’s on me. But watching The Full Monty? That one’s on her.