Wednesday, October 31, 2012
This Wasn't Supposed to Be My Waterford
No wait but really: Ma. I luh you, gurl. You my fave. You laugh at weird jokes and sometimes I think you don’t have a sense of humor, but it’s because you lost all your sleep/gave all your time and energy to your family. (And don’t worry: I have grown my hair out since this photo was taken) Waterford - I was talking about Waterford. So it’s this really nice crystal, that you probably get mostly as a wedding present, or you inherit it – wait, who am I kidding? I don’t know how you come by it– all the Douglas china was inherited from Big Daddy’s plantation owning ancestors. (I’m kidding. Kind of.) Will I ever have any Waterford? That’s debatable. If there’s not a chapter in my memoir titled, “This Wasn't Supposed to be My Marriage,” it means that all my wildest dreams will have come true and I’ll have married a man with the last name Vanderbilt / Carnegie / Rockefeller, and upon their regrettable inability to attend our wedding, William and Kate will send a set of Waterford sherry glasses. (13th cousins, once removed – Remember?)
Do I have any Waterford now? I do not. In fact, as I drink my orange juice and write
So raise your Waterford, your Tupperware, and your debatably-clean sippy cups, and let’s hear it for Mom: keeping the earth on its axis, one clean glass at a time.