Close Encounters of the Motherly Kind/ Talisa Exists

I put on my favorite cotton white shirt and a peachy-pinkish summer scarf that I got in Denver last week. Before I walked out of the guest-room of my parents' house, I put on my favorite red-stud earrings. I take one quick glance at myself. Everything on my face is in order--except for that weird rash on my upper-lip that makes me look like Dr. Mario. Oh well. I'm off.

"Mom, I'm going to Talisa's."

Talisa. One of my very best friends. In high school I would go to her house every weekend without fail. When mom would ask where I was headed my answer was always,"I'm going to Talisa's." My mom would reply, cross-eyed and in a slurry voice, "Tuh-LEE-zah!"

You see, my mom didn't think that Talisa existed. Rather, she thought that I just made Talisa up as a cover for who I was really going to hang out with--boys, bad ones. She came to this assumption because she saw me shaving my legs in the sink one day before I left for Talisa's. Now she thinks I shave my legs every time I say I'm going to Talisa's (but really she knows that I am going to hang out with boys, bad ones). This interrogation and mocking from my mother continued for years.

Just so you know I shave my legs so often because my leg hair grows back freakishly fast. I'm Bolivian. It's in my blood. I'm over it. You should be too.

My mom finally got to meet the elusive Talisa at my wedding. That cleared things up and caused a really embarrassing moment between the two of them at my luncheon. More importantly, it cleared things up.

So yesterday, there I was, in my peachy-pink scarf and favorite red earrings. "Mom, I'm going to Talisa's," I say as I head for the garage.

"Okay," was her answer.

Then I turn to the door. What is this? She didn't have any smart remarks about my assumed promiscuity? It's a miracle. Then I hear it.

"Don't forget to shave your legs!!!" Loud and proud, like any loving mother would yell at her own married daughter.

"Oh, and eStephanie, your ears are bleeding."

They weren't bleeding. It was just my earrings. Just so you know, I have Bolivian leg hair, and a Bolivian mother. I'm over it.

Blessed Week

This is my experience with finals illustrated through a Search Story.



Thanks Kacy. I really could do this all day.

Oh, and make your own and post a link to your blog in the comments section cause I want to see it.