My Mother Shopping At A Mall.

She is 5 foot, 2 inches tall when her hair is tamed. Early in the morning when the curls are wild and stretching, she’s more like 5 foot 6. (That’s 4 inches of hair for those who are bad at math.) So she’s small and petite, but only on the outside. Inside she is bold and loud and colorful. She is a carnival, all of my favorite rides in one. And she never withholds the fun from anyone. And she makes you want to wave your hands in the air at her wit as you go up and down like a roller coaster. 

When my mother shops at a mall, she is in her element! She can smell a sale, she moves fast to seize her clothy prey, and her taste is exquisite. I did not inherit this gene so I usually watch her in action, thankful to reap the benefits of her labor. But if we part ways - me at the food court chomping on fries which is more my speed, her flourishing in the middle of a rack - and then happen to meet up later, this is where my lastima costs more than any Anthropologie dress.

She looks so vulnerable holding so many shopping bags! I cannot bear the sight of my mami walking towards me, big hair, big smile, big plans to revamp my wardrobe. And so many sacks weighing in her delicate, pretty hands. Once at the North Star Mall in San Antonio, I saw a man in a suit bump her as he walked past. She must have had eight shopping bags and she almost tripped; I almost beat up the stranger. Leave her be! To waltz with her purchases and her pouches, and let her make the world an amusement park we can all look good in.

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p.s. She is my bestest frienda.