We Share Our Mother’s Health
Best read with Ratatat’s remix of The Knife’s We Share Our Mother’s Health
I’ve been slowly realizing that I when I’m looking at my mother, I’m staring into my own reflection, 28 years from now. And truth be told, the future is promising.
If I keep the same figure as my mother dearest, we’re only talking about growing up one size. Not bad, not bad at all. Basically reliving my post-France days, except I can blame my altered look on giving birth instead of exceeding the recommended lifetime amount of Nutella in mere weeks. Oh Nutella, why art thou so yummy? Getting sidetracked with thoughts of milk-chocolate deliciousness. Damn Nutella addiction striking again! Anyway! There won’t be much difference in my current and future appearance. We share similar hair color, and its lack of taming. There is also the exact same phone voice, causing much misunderstanding when I was working for her in answering the telephone in my late teens. Her clients immediately assumed I were her, and started pouring off their hearts, souls and troubles with the IRS. Thank heavens, I’m not doing that any more. It got a bit awkward telling people that first of all, I didn’t recognize their voices, and secondly since I were only a child, I knew nothing of such delicate nature, but if they could tell me there social security number I could look them up in my database, made in ancient Microsoft Access, and tell them if their stuff were ready for pick-up or not. But basically there laid my level of expertise.
But all these desirable traits, do come at a cost. I will have to come to terms with I, too, will slowly go blind and were coke-bottle lenses. Although I do take comfort in the fact, my eyesight isn’t deteriorating as fast as hers did at my age. Worst case scenario I will have to face my fears and get laser surgery. Probably won’t, since I feel naked without my glasses and being a hipster with prescription-less lenses is just lame.
Besides obvious aesthetics, I’ll need to take extra care of my breasts. I blessed with both good genes and freak mutant genes. Lets hope, that due to my small bust, and therefore fewer breasts cells, that their possible mutation causing malignant breast neoplasm won’t be as likely. Or at least that they decide to play nice with one another. At least I have learned from my mother’s mistake, and will most definitely go on a regular basis and have them checked, by a professional. That, and never try to comfort a child in the backseat whilst driving in bad weather. It can cause longterm physical damage.
I just hope that with time, I won’t get her insane infatuation for movies of the Bourne trilogy nature. I like my golden oldie epics and Jane Austen eloquence. None of that kill-kill, bang-bang and excessive explosions for yours truly, thanks! Those are the only changes I would like to make, in distinguishing myself from my mother.
|Pop-Up market at the port next to Klappastígur @ Menningarnótt|
At least I don’t take after my father. Then I’d look like an over-weight fisherman with thin hair and receding hairline. Which is universally acknowledged of being very unflattering for a girl.