Clotheshorse

My mother is driving me crazy.

Yesterday she brought me a large pile of clothes.

Not a single thing was anything I would ever wear.

My mother worries about me and she expresses her worry by doing things like bringing me weird clothing and home furnishings. She means well. 

The problem is that when my mother gives me something, it is symbolic of something she perceives is lacking in my personality.

In this case, she is worried that I will go to work dressed in the yoga pants and threadbare brown sweater she often sees me wearing at home.

I wear the sweater because I like it, and no one sees me at home and my house is old and chilly.

My mother is terribly disturbed by this particular sweater, despite the fact that I have reassured her over and over that I do not wear it to work.

I know my mother well and can see the wheels of her mind turning.

She is just waiting for the day that I am sacked for looking frumpy. 

What can I do to help.   

Help in this case means- you are fat and unkempt and I can't stand it.

I don't know, I never really felt bad about my appearance until you mentioned it.    

Last week she forced me to go to a nail salon with her.  My cuticles were disturbing.  She has not in 45 year made the connection between her badgering me and my nail biting.

I tired on the pile.  I was a reasonably good sport, for someone that had been blindsided by a pile of hideous clothing.  

  I will never wear a short beige dress.

My mother is thin, naturally.  She has long slim legs.  

I have short stumpy peasant legs, even at my thinnest, my legs look like they belong to a Polish woodcutter.  

I don't find this particularly bothersome; my mother has brought me a parade of knee length dresses and skirts that have haunted me my entire life.  

I am not someone that is cut out to wear shifts. 

I wear long dramatic skirts and dresses with fitted bodices that show off my small waist. I have a great bust, a lovely neck, a beautiful back. I have naturally perfect teeth.   I am happy with all of that.  

Put  me in a boxy shift and I look like a mental patient from the turn of the century, regardless of how cute the dress may be, on me it will look like a hospital gown.

I try to look on the bright side. At least she cares...

I am going to go wrap up in my brown sweater and do some sun salutations in my yoga pants and repeat my mantra this is not real life, this does not define you, and hopefully feel less ugly in a little while.