By Margo Griffin
The perfect mother bakes cookies in her image, soft and velvety outside with a slightly crispy edge and hardened inside. She signs up for an ideal number of committees, her hands stirring many pots, whispering in ears of other mothers her concerns about your imperfect life. She senses your openness and interest so she keeps her distance, avoiding imperfections like the clothes you wear and those you don’t, like the ten-year-old car you drive and the one you’ll never have. She has the ideal husband, former college quarterback, handsome and brilliant, holds high expectations, perhaps a perfectionist, and earns triple digits at a stressful but highly sought-after firm, all while managing to coach their perfect son’s undefeated football team. Her flawless children make the honor roll; they’re captains of their teams and presidents of their clubs and have more friends than they can count so they never accept your kids’ invitations over to the house for dinner, to shoot hoops or hang out. She lives in a perfectly situated house surrounded by the ultimate species of flowers for the climate, on a beautiful, tree-lined street surrounded by the best possible neighbors who are perfectly willing to walk her dog or bring in the mail when she calls them out of the blue saying she and her children will be gone for another unanticipated visit with her sister for a week or more. She exits her high-performance vehicle several spots away from your car, and you let her walk a few feet ahead of you, watching her elegantly move across the lot, poised in her Italian leather heels, carrying her rare designer bag in her exquisitely manicured hand as she enters the clinic and you follow behind. You look at her life and wish you could stop biting your nails, put your clumsy, chubby, but well-meaning husband on a diet, and afford math tutors and the clear kind of braces for your imperfect kids. You wish you could swap your whole life for hers until you notice the three perfectly round, purple, plum-sized bruises on her exceptionally toned arm when she slides off her superbly tailored coat.
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Margo has worked in public education for over thirty years and is the mother of two daughters and the best rescue dog ever, Harley. Her work has appeared in Bending Genres, Maudlin House, Dillydoun Review, MER, HAD, and Roi Fainéant Press. You can find her on Twitter @67MGriffin