It’s My Fault

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.

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