This year, you have pledged to do better than last year’s hastily organized trip to Cooter Brown’s Rib Shack, indeed, you have already made the reservations for the fancy brunch place with the white table clothes, where they serve free mimosa from the bottomless vat of “champagne”. (Your husband suggested that the waitress should get one of those backpack spray rigs, with the two tanks, marked “Champagne” and “OJ”.)
But, because you know that the brunch is not enough, not when you are certain that your siblings will be sending enormous bouquets of roses, and giant flowery greeting cards generously trimmed with paper lace and schmaltz.
And because you will not be outdid, you race to the CVS looking for the biggest box of Russell Stover, which is only 5 pounds, not enough to do better than your brother, Bob the Broker who will settle for nothing less than 10 pounds, but then you think “Quality, not quantity,” and opt instead for the fancy Frenchy chocolates sent direct from France (via Weehauken) where mothers are treated like Queens…right?
But then you decide to zig rather than zag, and decide that the bestest gift of all time will be slippers, elaborate golden glittery slippers like these, the Giselle from Patricia Green.
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