nice try, mom

My dear mother, God bless her. She tried. She really, really did. But despite her best efforts to raise a lady, she got a farting, finger-licking, housework-inept daughter son (with the with the chest to match!). My failure as wife/female of the year isn't exactly new, unlike the Mount Vesuvius zit that erupted on my nose this morning. Maybe if dear ol' mom had bellied up and buckled down, I'd be able to dangle my lady fingers in the pool of feminitiy like the rest of y'all.

Here's a list of things mom should've taught me. (Read: She tried, but nothing stuck... unlike that bacon burger I jammed into the hole in my face yesterday. #Regrets)

1. How to walk down the stairs wearing heels. I swear I look like I'm a drunk penguin waddling down the steps, gripping the stair rail like I'm defying death. It's a freakin' Cirque du Soleil act. Crap is terrifying. My tombstone is gonna read: "Here's bo-legged Berthe. Hope there ain't a stairway to heaven like Zeppelin thought."

2. How to eat. . . or should I say, refrain from eating. Cramming food into my gut is my one true talent. But mom should've (she did) warned me that I wouldn't always be able to carry on with my pubescent eat-everything-in-sight-like-a-pregnant-lady-about-to-give-birth-to-octuplets diet. That no, in fact, I won't always be able to pound four bowls of cereal, a roll of cookie dough, Doritos, and a whole pizza every night without turning into the spawn of the Pillsbury Dough Girl and the Michelin Man. Damn metabolism.

3. How to apply makeup. She let me go all goth-tastic in 10th grade, literally giving myself two black and blue eyewinkers. (Blue eyeshadow is about as attractive as John Travolta's butt chin.) I looked like I was one depressing poem away from slitting my wrists. Suffice it to say, my capabilities have barely improved. I just no longer look like a dumpy clown who got a bad lip job.

4. How to refrain from belching and farting. I'm not sure if you're aware, but bodily functions don't exactly have an off switch--at least mine sure don't. They're always there, footloose and fancy free. Mom probably should've let me in on her secrets to camoflauging her heinous odors since I've literally heard her fart once in almost 24 years (she was laughing too hard). She's apparently a genius at stealth mode. She should work for the FBI or something.

Nice try, mother dear. Thanks for trying your best.