Don't Ever Wonder...

when i was a kid - after black became my favourite colour and before pink was the colour of my prison, i decided to make my mother a birthday gift. i did this partly because i made no money and thus had no money (no i just have no money), and partly because i had been told that making a gift showed i cared. now, what could i make now that i had just started learning how to sew but was still not allowed to use the sewing machine? i could not ask my mother to buy supplies because then the surprise would be blown. i had to use what was already there. fortunately, i found a rectangle of sturdy pink fabric and a ball of black yarn. i smuggled a darning needle into my room and set about creating my masterpiece.

on 12 september, i presented my mother with a pink pincushion, embroidered (that word is used very loosely) with her initials (P on one side and B on the other) in black and with a black embroidered border. "oh, this is beautiful, thank you!" is what she must have said, because that is the kind of thing she tends to say. but i have to tell you, the thing was hideous. as i have grown, i have looked at that thing and wondered what was going on in my head. and i have been able to wonder because my mother discarded her rather fancy store-bought pincushion and has used that pink and black monstrosity since. i have offered to replace it and she has always gracefully declined, informing me that it doesn't matter how i feel about it because it is not mine.

so, when we disagree or she straight up pisses me off and i wonder what kind of a mother she is and if she really loves me, i think upon that pincusion (now, i think, decades old) and realise that she, at the very least, can pretend very well.