Friday, April 20, 2012

Dress You Up

Today, I realized that it is virtually impossible to "Like A Virgin" era Madonna tunes and be in a bad mood.  

As my revelations go, this one was pretty genius- thus, handily distinguishing it from most of the crap that flits through my brain on a daily basis.

I was driving home from an MRI (I'm fine- just a nagging injury that refuses to go away) and was in the kind of mood that only a claustrophobic person who had just spent the half hour in a loud, thumping machine could be in.

Side note:  The person who told me that an MRI was analogous to the middle of a donut was either a liar or a moron.  Donuts are awesome and delicious.  MRIs are neither. 

I realize that I sound like a bit of a moron with no internet access. I also realize that, in this particular case, that's all true.  I would have actually researched MRIs, but myWebMD privileges have been completely revoked as to preserve the sanity of everyone who spends time in my presence.  

It was the time that I was convinced that I was completely doomed due to unexplained night sweats that cost me the privilege.  It went a little something like this:

LMS:  I think something's really wrong with me.  I've been having these night sweats.
Husband:  Oh?
LMS:  WebMD says that unexplained night sweats are a sign of cancer.
Husband:  Well, what about night sweats caused by people who sleep in sweatshirts and sweatpants in 90 degree weather? Is that a sign of cancer, too?

Right.  Right.

So, I'm driving home and grumbling something incoherent about donuts and satellite radio came up huge for me.  Huge.  Madonna.  1985 Madonna.

Even better- it wasn't just 1985 Madonna.  It was "Dress You Up".

I remember taping that song off of the radio in 4th grade and playing it a few hundred million times.  Of course, back then- I thought the song was about clothes.  Then again, I also thought that "Material Girl" was also about clothes.  C'mon.  It's not that much of a stretch for a 9 year old.  Clothes are made out of material.

It took all of 8 seconds to transform me from a generic shrew to a smiling person with windows down, sunroof open, and music blasting at levels unacceptable to those who don't want to be permanently deafened.

It. Was. Awesome.  I might have even whistled, but I don't know how.

Oh, how it was a simpler time, back in 1985.  Back then, the only thing I wanted out of life was my very own "Like A Virgin" cassette tape.  There was only one thing standing between me and my 9-year old dream.

My mom.

In 1985, I stood a better chance of getting a brand new car, a pony, and a handgun than I did of getting anything to do with Madonna.  Madonna was contraband.

I have a great mom.  My mom was strict, paid attention to details, and set rules, and listened to song lyrics and did all of those things that good moms were supposed to do.  There were lots of rules and lots of restrictions.  While I am so grateful for these characteristics as an adult, let's just say that I was decidedly less so in 1985.

Ralphie from A Christmas Story heard a refrain of "you'll shoot your eye out" every time he mentioned his beloved Red Ryder BB Gun.  Me?  Every time I mentioned the word Madonna, I elicited a response of "No.  You'll get pregnant."

I had no chance.  No chance.  Except...

Same as in Ralphie's case, dear old dad came through for me as well--only, in my case, it wasn't as sweet and heartwarming.

One fine Saturday, my dad had the misfortune of being in a store with me and my four year old brother while my mom was getting her hair cut.

While we were out, however, I noticed and seized my window of opportunity.   I grabbed the tape while we were passing through the music section of the store and showed it to my dad.

The magic words?

Those would be....Hey Dad.  I need this for CCD.

The poor man was in a store, probably armed with a honey-do list, with two children who clearly did not want to be there and were probably behaving like either feral cats or straight-up ingrates.  He did what any other parent with 2 kids in a store on a Saturday would do---briefly glanced at the tape, threw it in the cart, and asked one follow-up question.

Dad: Madonna?  What the hell kind of name is that?
LMS:   It's a religious name, Dad.  I told you it was for CCD.


Little M's days of being illiterate are rapidly dwindling.   I suppose this means that I may need to start watching what I say.  With that in mind, this post just might be the first one I share with her.

No, it's not to share a charming anecdote of what her mother was previously like before I became a boring old hag.  It's to share with her a very important life lesson.

Listen to your mother.  Always listen to your mother.

I thought that I was crafty. I thought that I had beaten the system of parental bureaucracy.  I thought that I was on a path toward world domination.

No matter.    Mom wins.   Bought that Madonna tape, and guess what?  Mom was right.

I did get pregnant:)

Listen to your mother,

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