Windchimes

fall from cool

I usually either don't dream or don't remember my dreams, but last night's sticks persistent. May be an after-effect of all the drugs, may be something else:

My oldest daughter brings home a new friend to spend the weekend, a beautiful young lady, well-dressed and sophisticated-looking. We all have a lovely time chatting at dinner and around the table afterwards, and just before going to bed, I get a phone call. Some woman from some official-sounding agency demands that since I have this young lady at my house, I owe someone, somewhere, child-support. I dismiss the call as some kind of mistake, or joke. Can't be real, makes no sense. Next morning, I take my other daughter shopping and as we're walking, this same lady calls my cell-phone to tell me I'm not getting out of it, I have to pay. Eventually, I get over my shock at this absurdity and explain the situation to the woman on the phone. The girl is a guest of my daughter, I'd never met her before the previous night, know nothing about her, and find these demands for money very odd. The woman remains suspicious yet awhile, then finally explains. My daughter's new friend is a princess of a small, rich, South-American kingdom. I'm supposed to pay for the privilege of having her as a guest. I woke up before dreaming any money changed hands.

All that has nothing to do with the title of this entry, at least I don't think so. That comes from a late-night conversation with Constance and her friend and frequent visitor.

Background information...I got irritated at coming home from the hospital to find the kitchen a mess. I also got irritated when I came home from vacation and found the kitchen a mess. I hadn't left it a mess either time. Add to that the building irritation that occurs every time I come back here to use my computer and find my daughter on it. I got a little miffed and snotty after I came back here last night and found Constance on my computer and her friend on my husband's, said some things to my husband who said some things to the girls. I asked Cliff to put a new password on my computer, for one thing. I was considering the letters b-u-y-y-o-u-r-o-w-n.

So the porch conversation between us three started with me apologizing for getting so snotty, excusing myself by repeating my surgeon's advisory that I'd be depressed and irritable for the next week or so. Constance's friend said "That's ok, but can you tell Cliff to stop harassing us?" and Constance reminded me she wouldn't be home in the evenings for the rest of this week, cause she has a job, and she has to work. Somehow, the conversation got around to Constance's friend telling me that she has her own computer; a laptop with wireless internet that her mom and stepdad bought her when she started college. I swallowed some lack of comprehension concerning a few things, said, "that's really nice" and quickly walked back inside. I happen to know she didn't buy the car she drives around in, either.

My paranoid self feels certain her implication was that we really owe Constance a computer, so shouldn't ever complain when she uses one of ours. Plus, I'll admit to some defensiveness on the subject of not having a job...can't handle a job and classes and don't know how so many people do it, and the classes are more important to me right now. And as much as I can spew homilies on the maturity-slowing effects of giving one's children too much, material-wise, I'm pretty defensive about what we haven't given ours, for one reason or another.

Thing is, this friend of my daughter's often complains about her house, comes over here all the time and claims we're cool parents. Now, I remember being young and thinking all my friends had it better at their house than I had it at mine. My mom used to tease me about it. Well Honey, we're not buying anyone a laptop with wireless internet anytime soon. Unless we buy one for me and let Constance have this old desktop. I'm just way too selfish when it comes to some things, so you've got it pretty good at home.


J.H. Larrew
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