Free Disillusion Meets Delight by Leah Battaglio Page A

what are you going to wear?  We can’t possibly wear the same thing.”  My mother states, as if we would ever end up wearing the same outfit.  She is a 57 year old, lovely but uptight, wool dress suit and pearl necklace wearing fuddy duddy.  I am a twenty something, low rise pants and hoop earrings, up for anything girl.  Well, almost anything.  Have I mentioned yet, that I would rather be playing bingo with senior citizens than going to brunch?  Yes, I thought so. 
     
    So I pull into to my mother’s driveway at exactly 10:05.  That gives us five minutes to have frantic chit chat and for my mother to prance hysterically around the house and then twenty minutes to get to the restaurant.  It is actually a ten minute drive to the restaurant but we need to allow an extra ten minutes just in case we get behind a slow driver or there is extra traffic that was not anticipated, which is a contradiction because we will anticipate it.  How can I still question where I learned to be neurotic? 
     
    “Natalie!  Quick, which shoes look better with this dress?”  My mother asks, lifting up each leg so that I don’t get an altered perception of what each shoe would look like.  Some people would put on the same pair of shoes, ask what they look like, take them off and continue the routine with the second pair of shoes.  However, this is my mother and she does things her way, it’s a better use of time she says.  I say that if one is so busy that one cannot take ten seconds to try on two pairs of shoes, then it’s time to pack it up and take a nap because that person is far too busy.  What do I know though, I am just a child. 
     
    “Mother, both shoes look the same!  Just wear those.”  I respond pointing downwards, not really making a decision favoring either one. 
     
    “Which shoes, Natalie?  Seriously darling, you cannot make a decision to save your life.  I suppose I will just wear these.”  My mother says as she rolls her eyes and you wonder why bingo sounds so blissful. 
     
    We arrive at Monet’s for brunch at precisely 10:22 to meet Jan and Mallory.  Thank goodness we provided extra time for travel.  The elderly couple that moved at a snail’s pace across Oak Street was really putting us behind.  My hangover is starting to settle and mimosas are beginning to sound divine.  The restaurant is actually really nice.  There is a lovely aroma of crepes and French roast coffee.  The subtle colors of pale pink and crème provide a sense of calm which is what I need desperately right about now because the dynamic duo have just made their grand entrance. 
     
    Jan has been seeing the plastic surgeon recently because her eyebrows seem closer to her hairline than normal and although she must be well past fifty; there is barely a crease on her face and not a gray hair in sight.  Her reddish brown hair is perfectly styled and it would not surprise me the least bit if she had seen her stylist before coming to brunch.  Jan Wellington has always tried her best to out-do my mother, which is quite charming considering she claims to be one of my mother’s dearest friends.  Yet my mother ignores her behavior and carries on with their superficial friendship.  I think it’s a country club thing.
     
    As the wait staff brings our meals out, I am starting to calm down a bit.  The conversation, as idle as it may be, has little relevance to me.  No comments of my career or love life so far and I will gladly keep it that way!
     
    “Well ladies, I suppose it’s time that we make our announcement!  My dear and only daughter is getting married!”  Jan exclaims and if I am not mistaken, seems to be tearing up!  Mallory Wellington is getting married.  Lovely!  Yet another accomplishment that appears to be a far off triumph for myself.  I think I could vomit right now at this very moment. 
     
    “Oh Jan, you must be so proud!  Who is the lucky gentleman that has swept our Mallory away?”  My