Dear Formerly Amish Mom,
First of all, let me just say thank you for getting the hell off the farm and fleeing to evil civilization when you did. Because even though I wasn't even in utero pre-production yet, had I been born into that world I know I'd have become the kind of eccentric loon that I adore researching today. However, Mom, you managed to bring some of that Amish charm with you and nail it into my subconscious with the kind of zeal you Ams reserved for barn raisings. All well intentioned love, I know.
You were always so worried that I'd end up looking like a trollop. Not an unrealistic fear, considering the women in our family have all been granted size D or larger racks. And apparently nothing screams whore like an oversized rack. Even after I grew up and out of the house, you let me know every single time I saw you just how disappointed you were in my cleavage to clothing ratio.
I spent so much time focusing on the TOP of the girls that I completely overlooked the other side of the mountains. I still don't understand how cracker crumbs can adhere up under there so stubbornly and in such great numbers. Doesn't gravity work anymore? Any surface that contains anything transferable, food, dust, colorforms - I merely have to think about walking by and an hour later I find those items attached to the upunder side of my girls.
You tried so hard. You really did. What you didn't know was that no matter what we women do, we look like a 2$ whore to somebody. I just look like one that's a tad more expensive - one that can be bought for an all you can eat buffet or admission to a very dusty place.
And even though that's exactly what you tried to avoid, I need you to know that it could have been worse. So much worse. I'm not easy to work with by any standards, and somehow you raised me well enough to find and land the Best Husband in the World. I only wish I knew exactly what cloaking device you activated for that to happen.
I love you Mom. Happy Mother's Day.