Mom on the Run
“Mom,” my son says, firmly, determinedly, with more than a touch of annoyance. “I know I said I needed a shower curtain. But why would you buy me a zebra one?”
I stop in my tracks, full and heavy basket of laundry in my arms. Um. Shower curtain. Oh! Right! Shower curtain! And I grin. “You don’t like it?”
I have to put this laundry down, so I walk on, through the hallway and into my bedroom, where I plop the basket on my bed. Then I turn back and talk to my kid. “Seriously? The zebra is bad?”
f“Why would you even buy it. Really.” My son is not asking, these are flat statements. He doesn’t have any desire to know. But I want to tell him!
“Well, see,” I start, hands up and out, placatingly, explaining, asking for understanding. “I didn’t want to get you just a shower curtain liner. Those are too thin. And I didn’t want to get both a liner and a cloth one, those are a hassle. I just wanted one heavy shower curtain. And the selection ….”
My son interrupts me: “If zebra was all they had, then you shouldn’t have bought anything. You totally wasted your money.”
“ … so the only other ones like that, the heavy plastic ones, were Hello Kitty and ….”
“I’m serious. I’m not using it. It’s zebra!”
“… Hello Kitty and Mickey Mouse! I thought you might like the zebra!” I hurry to finish my explanation, before he cuts me off again.
I mean, he’s almost 18, what do almost 18-year-old boys like in shower curtains? Solid? Stripes? I looked and looked, and there really was a dismal selection. Nothing macho at all. Really, so many floral shower curtains. Floral and pastel shades. It was a horrible selection, and I did the best I could.
I had actually thought zebra might be cool, that he might like it. It’s wild, right, by definition. Aren’t animal prints in? I know my son liked the giraffe-print towel I bought a few years back. And with that dense black and white print – I had expected that he would appreciate the coverage. Nobody can see anything, even silhouettes, through that pattern, if they have to go into the bathroom during his shower for, I don’t know, toilet paper. Or something.
My son and I stand for a second in the hallway, at an impasse, looking at each other in silence. I’m thinking about all the consideration I put into the shower curtain, standing and debating, there in the store. I looked and looked, at cloth shower curtains and Mickey Mouse shower curtains. I thought he really needed a shower curtain! And right now, well, honestly, I’m thinking that it’s OK, and I’ll just hang the zebra thing and he’ll use it and we’ll all move on, because does anyone really care about the pattern on a shower curtain?
My son, though, is obviously thinking quite different things, because, “You may as well have thrown the money away,” he says again, in a new tone, one I haven’t heard before, one of maturity and determination. He puts his hand up, waves me away, and walks back to his room.
And those were the statements of an adult, I realize. He’s not placating me anymore. He’s no longer just putting up with whatever I inflict upon him. It’s his bathroom, his territory, and it’s not just a shower curtain, it’s a milestone. Camouflaged in loud black and white zebra print.
