ironing craziness

I grew up thinking that my parents, and particularly my mom, were always right all the time. It never really occurred to me to question them. Even as I got older and grew exceedingly frustrated and wept and wailed that they never let me have any fun and snuck into the living room late at night while they were sleeping and watched Miami Vice in the dark, scrunched up next to the TV so I could hear the sound that I had turned down to “please do not wake up my parents” levels, I still assumed that they were right. I thought my mom had a direct line to God, so I believed the litany of behaviors she claimed to be ungodly. I did many of these behaviors anyway, but deep down, I expected God to smite me down at any moment. (Turns out, God is too busy to cast lightning upon you for watching Don Johnson abuse fashion.)

After therapy and years of living my own life and realizing that things are not always as my mom told me and did I mention the therapy?, I have come to the conclusion that my mom, is in fact, not always right. Or, to be more specific I don’t know if she’s ever had a right thought in her entire life. To be honest, she’s a bit of a loon. A total raving mad lunatic, not to lump anyone with emotional troubles in with her, because I wouldn’t lump anyone in with her particular brand of crazy.

It’s liberating, really, realizing that I don’t have to live my entire life based on her bat-shit insane philosophies. But now that I’ve gotten past the big stuff: maybe the sole purpose of women in life isn’t to make a happy home for their husbands, and maybe having sex with someone you aren’t going to marry doesn’t bond you with them forever and make you follow and love them no matter what, I’m beginning to question everything she taught me.

Take last night. I was ironing some shirts. And I started thinking: what if I’m ironing them all wrong? I’m doing it the way she did it, and Lord knows “the way she did it” is mostly not the way anyone should do anything. I had this total loss of ironing faith, all because my mom told me that KISS worshipped the devil only later I read Gene Simmons’ autobiography and discovered that he just pretended to worship the devil to sell more albums and the illusion that my mom could tell devil worshippers on sight was shattered.

You may not think devil worshipping and ironing are related, but then you didn’t grow up in the crazy land of my life. I do know this. As refreshing as it is to not do things because my mom said to, it will be even better when I do things without even considering what my mom’s views on them might be. Because ironing is tedious enough without questioning your subconscious motives and hidden childhood issues.

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