On Being Desired

My mother constantly sits on my shoulder and whispers in my ear, repeating all the words she said aloud to me in the 50s and 60s: you're not nice, you're not desirable, people don't like you. Well, those weren't the exact words. The words, precisely, were "You'll never get a man. You're too obstinate." and "You wouldn't want to have a daughter. She'd be just like you and nobody would want that."

Being raised to believe one is dumb, ugly and incompetent is a very heavy pattern to redraft (to use a clothing design metaphor).

And today I'm struck by the number of friends I have who want me around.

• Jill has invited me to her party tonight.
  
• Gail has invited me to join her family for dinner tomorrow.
  
• Maureen has invited me to join her and George for dinner on Christmas, their first Christmas as a married couple. And I'll take my laptop and teach her some Word tricks.
  
• Pat, a chorus friend, asked me last night if I would come over and teach her and several friends how to do bead crochet, in exchange for her providing lunch. (Ah, the way to my heart — home cooking.)
  

So there, Mother. I am nice. People do like me. You're wrong. Now get off my shoulder!