Raw Drip

Out on a rare date night at a local sushi restaurant, Dick and I were enjoying our sake sampler and holding hands when in walked a woman who, literally, made my jaw drop. It wasn’t that her appearance was offensive so much as just plain scary. She looked to be mid-40’s trying to look mid-20s – half former Solid Gold dancer and half Pamela Anderson impersonator. In tow followed a sheepish, disheveled 7 or 8 year old boy still in his preppy private school uniform and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else on earth.

Frankenmom, as I dubbed her, was dressed in a form-fitting thigh high abstract print beige mini dress which showed off her sculpted legs and her clearly, surgically enhanced busom. Gold lame 5-inch hooker pumps, a beige L.A.M.B. clutch, and a tightly fitted, cropped brown jacket rounded out her outfit. Her over-processed bottle blonde hair was teased at the crown into a ridiculously high boufant reminiscent of sex hair. On her bronzed face, perfectly drawn cat eyes with thick black eyeliner competed with her lips, which resembled the glossy pink Mrs. Potatohead plastic lips that Tabitha likes to play with at home.

When Frankenmom walked into a room you couldn’t take your eyes off of her – and not in a good way.

As she was seated, it was clear that she and her son were regulars. The GM and a waitress hugged her at the door, exchanging air kisses and asking the whereabouts of her husband who, she divulged, was away on business. As she placed her wine order, the waitress complimented Frankenmom on her dress. “Oh, this old thing? Darling, this is last season’s Bebe and only fit to be worn around the house,” she replied dismissively. The waitress chuckled, awkwardly.

Meanwhile, Frankenmom’s son squirmed in his chair searching his pockets for his iPod earbuds and upon finding them, shoved them into his ears, retreating into his own little world. With junior occupied, Frankenmom siliently gazed at the TV over the bar and sipped her wine, smiling coyly at the occasional male glance in her direction.

Later, as we waited for our bill to arrive, the waitress stopped at Frankenmom’s table with a drink refill for the boy. Frankenmom asked the waitress to wait as she searched for her wallet. The waitress, making small talk, asked her how she’s been lately. “So busy,” Frankenmom said. “I have been working so hard, you know? Every day this week I had to take Jacob to school and then afterwards, I hit the tanning salon for a few hours and then the gym for a few hours. With my husband gone I can barely find the time to get to my manicurist and the next thing I know, it’s time to go pick up Jacob again and take him out to dinner.”

Sighing, as she handed over her cash to the waitress, she used the tip of one gold pump to nudge her son’s leg under the table. He looked up with a blank expression as she pointed at the door. As silently as they had eaten, they left.

After they left, Dick and I exploded with bottled-up badness. I mean, who could resist being catty with that kind of fodder, right? I guess one could characterize our chatter as one run-of-the-mill couple’s way of feeling superior to someone who was clearly financially better off than we are. Whatever you want to call it, we both agreed that as crazy as most of our meals with the children are – and they are mostly insane – we would NEVER want that level of detachment with our kids. What’s the point of having children if you don’t want to interact with them?

And could this woman have been any more oblivious to how rude and insulting she was? Her pricey designer dress is portrayed as a mere house frock, while this waitress is probably scraping by on minimum wage + tips. And, please indulge my judgemental nature just a bit longer here, what was up with her supposedly busy schedule? She goes to the tanning salon, the gym and the manicurist EVERY DAY and she makes it sound like taking her own kid to school is some sort of disruptive burden! Incredible…

Perhaps more freaky than Frankenmom’s over the top rudeness in manner and appearance was the way her son seemed to be yet another accessory. From our perspective it looked as though his primary role was to fade into the background and allow her to be the center of attention – the hot mom – with hot always being the operative word. I’m all for being a hot mom, but show some restraint. I wonder how all of the gross male attention towards her desperately displayed sexuality must be screwing up her son. Is there any hope he’s going to have a balanced perspective on male/female relationships with a vacant, mostly absent Pamela Anderson wannabe for a mom?

So Frankenmom, if you’re out there somewhere reading this (however, my guess is that reading isn’t on your daily list of chores), all the money in the world won’t keep you young and desirable forever, babe. Your only real hope for longevity is to look up from your glass of wine and start talking to your kid. When it all comes to an end – the beauty, the money, and everything else – being so self-involved won’t get you anywhere worth being and even then, you’ll be alone. So, why don’t you worry a little less about getting every other guy’s attention and start thinking of ways to get your son’s attention by making him the center of yours.

Okay – rant over.