mother's day

At 12:30 my son calls to wish me a happy mother’s day.  Our conversation starts to drift into, “Have you…”  And, "Did you…”  Alexander stops me and says, “Hey, I just called to wish you a happy mother’s day.  I’m studying for finals and I don’t have time to talk about anything else.”  Finals are a stressful time.  I’m glad he called. 

Ten of us are meeting at my sister’s club in Long Island for mother’s day dinner.  After much consideration on what to wear, I finally go conservative, as in black pants, black nylon jacket (that I bought at the Jil Sanders sample sale last year and have never worn), and a white blouse.  I could pass as a waiter or a sales associate at Bloomingdales.

My black pants that looked fine at home look out-of-place at the club, where just about every female over five and under eighty is wearing skinny pants with high heels. 

The food is amazing.  I feel like I’m at someone’s Bar Mitzvah.  Pre-diner there are different food stations.  Sushi.  Chinese. Mini hot dogs.  Spanakopitas.  Salmon. Crab cakes. Shrimp cocktail.  Vegetable and dips.  Stuffed mushrooms.  I am full before dinner begins.  But still I eat more.  I skip the big salad; have only two lamb chops and a few fries; and sample two desserts.  I probably gain about three pounds in two hours. 

As for my hair?  My observant nephew Jason notices.  No one else says a word.  Translated that means either it doesn’t look much different (which I don’t believe is true) or no one likes it (except Jason).  Or perhaps it's option three.  No one is looking at my hair.