Diamonds Aren't A Girl's Best Friend

When I was about two or three years old, I attended preschool in South Charlotte. Since we were still living off of Providence Road, it wasn’t nearly the trek it would later become when I attended high school (that’s a story for another time) but it was still Charlotte. For those of you who aren’t native to the Queen City, traffic is a nightmare. It has been for as long as I can remember, and my mother - being the queen of arriving fashionably late - was almost never on time for anything much less preschool. Now obviously, I don’t remember much about being three years old, but what I do know to be true is that, even twenty years later, my mother is still never on time. While I am someone that prides myself on being punctual, I have grown used to the fact that if I’m with my mother that’ll never happen. As much as it drives me insane, it's what makes my mama who she is. Just like how she always brings deviled eggs to a party or if you can’t find her in the house she's probably on the dock fishing.

So back to the story at hand, my mom was dropping me off at preschool one morning, running late as usual, when she ran into another mom. I don’t even know who the woman was, but apparently she was one of those moms who was always perfectly put together. You know the type; consistently dressed to the nines, never a hair out of place, etc, etc - frankly the kind of mom I aspire to be one day. But on this particular morning, she was a wreck. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were wrinkled and stained, her kids looked as if they had dressed themselves, and she was probably hiding behind a pair of oversized sunglasses. Oddly enough, she had a swipe of bright, fire engine red lipstick running haphazardly across her mouth. My mother, being the kind hearted soul that she is, struck up a conversation with the woman asking if everything was okay to which the woman retold the highlights of her day so far, brushing it off with the ease & poise of Grace Kelly as they laughed over the spilled milk of a morning. At some point or another in the short conversation my mother had asked about her lipstick, presumably why she even had even bothered with it that morning.

The woman had smiled, not missing a beat, as she relayed her own thought process to my mother in an elegant southern accent debutantes can only dream of, “My mama always says, Darlin’ diamonds aren’t a girl’s best friend, lipstick is.” And that was that.

Over the course of the last two decades, that simple mantra has become a bit of an inside joke to my mother and I, both of us adopting a southern belle persona that our ancestors would be proud of when repeating the now infamous words while sharing a knowing look and a laugh. It's become a point of connection for the two of us, something we can always count on to make us giggle, or as a reminder to always put your best foot forward no matter the day you’ve had. For two women seperated by different styles and interests, it’s become a sort of promise over the years that we’ll love each other even on our worst days. So here’s to my mom, the woman who can do it all - from baiting a hook to making the perfect pot roast - the kind of woman I aspire to be.

Happy Birthday Mama.

Mama Lookin' Like A Goddess