Last night I was getting ready to go out with friends — it was the end of a really long weekend filled with friends and family and fun. I was in the bathroom putting on my face and fretting over a necklace choice.
"Mama?" said my youngest daughter, who is newly nine. "Don't spend too much time picking a necklace or makeup. You are so beautiful even when you just wear your jammies and no makeup at all."
There is a photo hanging in my mother’s house. It was the very last photo taken on May 13th, 1990, the day I was Bat Mitzvah-ed in an old once-Church of Scientology in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.
I was tired, irritated, annoyed, done.
I loathe this photo. Every time I pass it in the hallway, I cluck my tongue and utter an under-my-breath comment.
