The Mad Borrower Strikes Again!

According to My Beautiful Wife, mother of our three daughters, some women are born lucky; she's just not one of them.

Some women have daughters who are six inches taller (or shorter) than they are. Or daughters who live in flannel shirts, work boots and a knapsack.

The real lucky ones, she believes, have sons.

Our daughters, on the other hand, swear by Liz Claiborne and Donna Karan...they have lifetime subscriptions to VOGUE, and God love 'em, are all the same size: HER size!

Which means her closet attracts more customers than a flea market, and her clothes are seen all over town - but seldom on HER!

Like little mice they come, those daughters of ours. In the dead of night. Before dawn. Whenever she's not around. And thieves that they are, they never ask first...they just take. They pick, they take and they run. But they do leave behind the most darling little notes, pinned to a bathrobe or taped to the mirror.

She found another one last week. It was in the fridge, on top of an uncovered grapefruit half:

Dear Mom: Glad to see you're sticking to your diet. By the way, borrowed your red blouse to go with your gray slacks (they fit me perfectly!). Will return them tonight, along with your eyeliner and gold pantyhose (took those last week, but forgot to tell you. Sorry about that.) Hope you don't mind. Thanks. Love.

One of the Mad Borrowers had struck again. That night, the culprit knocked timidly on her bedroom door.

"I'm returning your things, Mom."

"Come right in," my BW said. "Second floor: Skirts, blouses, better sportswear. May I show you something in an older person's sweater?"

"Cut it out, Mom. These are the only things I borrowed all week. Besides, I told you I'd return them."

"Yes, but you didn't tell me you were taking them!"

"I meant to, but I overslept and had to hurry to catch the school bus and I didn't want to wake you."

"For that you can wake me," she said. "Didn't it occur to you that I might want to wear that outfit today?"

"But you have lots of great clothes, Mom; all my friends say so. I didn't think you'd miss these."

"I'm flattered that your friends like my clothes, but I'd really like my friends to see me in them now and then."

"So what's the problem?"

"No problem, really," she said. I guess my friends could drop in on your classes for a fast glimpse. But I was sort of hoping they could see the clothes on me."

The darling little Borrower started to squirm; apparently the strategy was working.

"Mom, are you mad at me?"

"No, not mad. Just a little disappointed that my own daughters have no compassion for their mother. Do you think it's right that a grown woman should have to
hide behind the curtains all day because she has nothing to wear? That she can't go out until her kids come from school and get undressed?"

"Mom, I think you're exaggerating."

"Am I? Do you know there's a registered letter sitting in the post office for the last three weeks because I refuse to see the mailman in either of the two things
left in my closet - a ratty bathrobe and my wedding dress? Or that I haven't paid the paper boy in six weeks, had friends over for coffee or taken in the garbage
pails since November? I'm very happy that you have good taste and that you're into designer clothes, but does it have to be my clothes that you're into?"

Most women would kill to be a perfect size six, but my BW dreams of being a mature 16, with a wardrobe she can call her own.

Something tells me, though, that things would still be the same. I can see the note now:

"Dear Mom:

Went to the beach with Amy, Sue, Jill, Laurie and Beth. Couldn't find a blanket, so I borrowed your blue skirt..."