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Mamas and Divas don’t always mix

By RONDA RICH

Ronda Rich is the author of “What Southern Women Know (That Every Woman Should)” and “My Life In The Pits.” She lives in Gainesville, Ga.

Why is it that your mother will say the worst thing possible to you, worse than your biggest enemy will even dare to think?

Mothers will say it and never think twice about the hurt, havoc or humiliation it delivers.

They say whatever they want and then move easily, without a moment’s hesitation, onto the next thought in their minds, which will have nothing to do with the harsh insult they just dropped into your lap.

My mama will lift one eyebrow, cast a head-to-toes glance filled with disapproval and say sternly, “That skirt’s too short. I’m not going out with you, showing your tail like that. It’s disgraceful.”

My anger will quickly rise but I’ll bite it back and say tersely although I try to sound nonchalant, “Then don’t go. Stay home.”

“I am not staying home!” she’ll shrill. “I spent an hour getting ready and you know what a hard time I have tryin’ to fix my hair with my bad hand. I just can’t hardly maneuver the curling iron. After all that trouble, I’m not about to stay home.”

That’s Mama. You can’t go with her and you can’t go without her. “Well, I’m not changing clothes so it would appear that you have a decision to make.”

Know this: No car ever leaves Mama’s driveway without her well-covered tail planted firmly inside. For that reason, I’m always certain that I have the upper hand. She’ll simmer for a moment and then say, “I’ll go but you can bet on me tellin’ people that I didn’t raise you to be a floozie. You learned that all on your own.”

I am not the only one with this problem. Sometimes when the divas get together, it is a subject of great conversation: Our mamas and their comments. It’s hard, though, for any of them to top my entertaining mama.

She called me one night after seeing me on a television show about Southern women that I had hosted. “You looked so great,” she began.

“You were really pretty. But the more I watched it, the more I realized that the reason you looked so good was because those other women looked so bad that they made you look good.”

Once I made the questionable decision of taking Mama with me on a seven-city book tour through Mississippi. That isn’t just another story, that’s another book. One that will not be published until Mama has gone to her heavenly reward.

No sooner had we settled into our seats and were fastening our belts than Mama looked over at me and began to lament over how bad I looked. She surmised that all of my travel and work had taken its toll on my appearance and was ravaging my looks.

I shrugged. “I’m okay. It’s just the shade of my lipstick. It’s paler than I normally wear.”

She clucked her tongue and shook her head sadly. “No, it’s not. I can’t believe how bad you look.”

Wisely, I decided we would not get in a fight before we left the driveway so I held my tongue. She reached over to pat my dachshund who was traveling with us and then chuckled.

“Your brother said that the only reason I’m getting to go to Mississippi is to be the dog’s nanny.”

“Well, he’s wrong.”

Her smile broadened. “Really?” she asked, thinking I was about to brag on her.

“I’m taking you so that if I start to feel too good about myself, you can just bust my bubble.”

Mama grinned happily. She loves having an important role in my life.