The other evening at a dinner (more on Queen Ranier later), the subject turned to Mother's day and what people had done to celebrate "Mother's Day" which supposedly to place last Sunday. Someone had then asked why I hadn't written something about Mother's Day. Someone turned out to be Isabelle Huppert, who is turning out more and more to be my arch-nemesis. She was just trying to provoke me. But it made me think that perhaps millions of people had been waiting for me to write something about Mothers, but I wasn't there for them! My first thought was to blame my assistant, but I immediately remembered I had been snapping at her when she addresses me lately, so perhaps she didn't get around to reminding me.
Well let me tell you a story.
I think the most important thing to remember about mothers is that it's not who they are that makes them special, but it's what they've done for you. I can think of two nice things that my mother has done for me. Unfortunately both scenarios have unhappy endings.
When I was a child, my mother moved to NYC. Apparently I was abducted by her when I was very young, but I didn't know it. My playground at the time was Studio 54; apparently mother took me there often and I remember always being enchanted by the lights and the sequins. The most magical day for me as a child was Bianca Jagger's birthday party. She rode into the club atop a white horse feathered like a majorette in what for me, was at that time, the most spectacular party entrance I'd seen. (I've since seen, and have participated in better.)
My birthday was also coming up and I asked mother if I could have my birthday at Studio 54 and ride in on a white Horse. She said that six years old was too young for something like that. She said that I should wait for my confirmation. I guess it seemed far enough away.
So do I have to tell you that my confirmation day arrived, and there was no white horse? Well, there wasn't. No Studio 54. (I know no one was going there anymore, but I was still a child and didn't know this.) I hadn't been able to get a hold of her for the entire year before my confirmation. My father had to send me and five friends on a Safari to make up for it, even though he had already committed to an entirely different gift that I would not let him get out of giving me. I learned that day you can only rely on yourself.
The other story involving mother also was in New York. She sold my silkscreen portrait Andy Warhol did of me to buy a Bungalow in Bora Bora. Well, when she died I inherited that bungalow in Bora Bora, but I can tell you that my portrait would be worth much much more than that. I tell you!
So I guess the point of my Mother's Day advice is to you is this: For just this one day, forget about the bad things your mother has done to you. Thank her instead. (At least that's what you're supposed to do) Like "Thank you bringing me to Studio 54 as a child. I always had fun." But leave out "But I do not thank you for not giving me the white horse that you promised to me." Something like that.
I hope everybody had a nice day with Mummy!
nice
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