There is a conspiracy between the generation of women above mine in our family. Truth be told, they were cooler than my cousins and I were at any stages in our lives. They were beautiful and wild and they were becoming women in the late 1960’s and 70’s. My mom and her sisters wore their hair long and drove convertibles and raised hell all over town. The three sisters had six daughters and our grandparents were still complaining about what they had to endure raising “those girls” by the time our generation was old enough to hear the stories.
This is my 6th birthday party. That’s my mom with the two party horns in her mouth. Do you see the boys looking at her ? Do you see all the little girls mad faces? Yep, that was my childhood. I was the boring kid wrapped up in a towel in a chair who couldn’t hold her breath underwater. I had to watch my mom water ski on the top of the waterskiing pyramid. I was the girl who the boys wanted to come and swim at our pool, because my mom was there and she was fearless and funny and even the room turned to follow her around itself.
We granddaughters really just wanted to be just like them. We wanted to iron our hair and wear tight jeans with high heels and go out dancing. We all wanted boys to chase after us and girls to wish they were us. I wanted to have pool parties with the stereo playing outside and wear a crocheted bikini. We all wanted to be like them.
If we were going to be as cool as our moms and our aunts we were going to need boobies. If we had boobies like them, then we too could command the entire towns attention. If we had boobies like them we could wear a crocheted bikini.
Back then you didn’t go and buy boobies like today. You either had them or you didn’t. You either had them because you were on the heavier side and since boobies are, well, fat or you sold your soul to the devil because you’re a size 2 jeans with a size D cup. These were some mean skinny girls with some giant knockers. I can prove that they worked for the dark side.
Here is my mom at my sister’s birthday party. I have no idea where my sister is.
They worked for the Dark side.
What makes them really evil? We had 250 chickens at “The Farm”.
I am very happy to say that my boobies eventually grew in and my sisters grew in so well she even had to have some taken off. It turns out someone, way back in our family, sold their soul for the boobie gene. Since I didn’t have to pay for my boobies I wonder if I can get a “belly button restoration” before I turn forty? I want to wear a bikini again and after my twins (11.5 pounds) and a 10.5 pound singleton (Peter) turned my bellybutton into a cup holder, I think I deserve it. I also think my mom, (wherever she is) would be smiling and holding up a frozen grasshopper with an umbrella at the sight of her pasty white little girl jumping in the pool in a smokin’ hot crocheted bikini and pinching her nose.
If you enjoyed this oldie read “I may be on the “No Chaperone” list after this one.”
Follow me so I can continue to dredge up all my embarrassing moments. I need an audience when throwing myself under the bus.
Were your parents cooler than you or were you cooler than your terribly embarrassing parents? 😉
All that makes you... 