Maturity

Have you ever experienced something that made you suddenly realize you might be turning into your mother? And it scared you, just a little bit?

I remember when I was in high school and, for some reason, had the misopportunity to catch a view of my mother stark naked. Now, my mom was by no means grossly obese or disfigured or anything like that. But, in my 17 year-old mind, with my seventeen year old body, I thought to myself, Ew! And, something along the lines of, please don't let me ever, ever look like that when I get old! All wrinkles and excessive dimpling and extra flesh around the midsection; yuck!

Fast forward to the present.

Recently, I was dismayed when I went to give my sixteen year old daughter a hug. She was stiff-armed a little bit, and wouldn't let me get too close to her, and I was wondering what the heck was wrong.

Upon inquiring, the aforementioned sixteen year old informed me that she
didn't want me to squeeze her so tight because, when I did, my poo-chi, which as a result of my Nutter Butter addiction, now sticks out further than my underwhelming A-cups, and she informed me that it "creeped her out a little bit" as it squished into to her flat little stomach while I tried to hug her.

Huh. Well then. How 'bout that?

My response, of course, was to tell her to enjoy her flat stomach while she can; genetics (or perhaps a genetic Nutter Butter problem) would be coming to catch up with her some day.

Her response: the obligatory eye roll, accompanied by a long-suffering heavy sigh, and immediately followed with an extremely un-heartfelt, "Thanks Mom."

My always-mature reply wasn't long in the making: I snottily snapped out, "You're welcome."

And when she wasn't looking, I stuck my tongue out at her.

I am now patiently waiting for her to reach her 40's and realize I am right. And I will have my evil laugh cued up and ready to roll when it happens.