Oh, Mommy and Daddy, Why Couldn't You Raise Me a Lady

Oh, Mommy and Daddy
Why couldn’t you raise me a lady…

Playing bridge, speaking French, cocktail parties, and fewer tattoos
Love confessions, blind dates
And not being, you know, so loose…

Sherry ports, pleated skirts, IRAs, PTAs, dental check-ups
Country clubs, English pubs, NPR, PBS, BBC
Christmas balls, concert halls, small espressos, big wines, little teacups
Sunday dresses at church and bikini vacations at sea

Please do not get me wrong…
I do not mean to sound ungrateful
It is just that I don’t, it is just that I can’t comprehend…
Why we can’t be like them — dull and normal, successful and graceful —
With a job at a desk and an extra bit money to spend

I’d watch fancy shows in the very front rows and wear
Silver-lined décolletés where breasts wink at you with a smirk
I’d go with Billy to London, Bahamas and Paris
I’d have framed diplomas, and Billy would go to work

It is just that I don’t…
It is just that I can’t…
Fathom…
It can’t be so hard
It can’t be so strange
To be…
Just to be something else
Something we can be proud of and treasure
And to know the fault for all this
Isn’t fully with me

I don’t blame you at all
I don’t think you’re somehow guilty
Of the way that things are, of my choices, decisions, and such…
I believe that I am — that we all — are humane, smart, and pretty
And deserve so much more
Even if it is not very much

Country clubs, Girl Scout cubs, skiing lodges, and summer addresses
German cars, French perfumes
Broadway musicals, little black dresses
Sunday brunches, hot lunches, and men who are sober and steady…

Oh, Mommy and Daddy
Why can’t we be happy already?