Shiny Nikki
By: Misty M
Tags: Overweight, Growing Up, Codependency, Sad Mom, Moms

by Misty McAfee

TV Mom — Anne from One Day at a Time

My Mom — Similar, but not as easy going

Movie Mom — Joan Crawford Mommy Dearest

My Mom — Some similarities

TV Mom — June Cleaver Leave it to Beaver

My Mom — Nope.

Movie/Book Mom — Deidre Burros in Running with Scissors

My Mom — Nailed it.

Nikki was bigger than life. My sober friends called her ‘Shiny Nikki’ due to her affinity for large pieces of cubic zirconia. Each hand sported 3 gigantic rocks with gold entwined around her surprisingly slim fingers. Nikki adorned her neck with layers of gold and faux ice. The earrings, oh the earrings! Nikki never met an oversized piece of glitter she didn’t like.

Nikki easily adopted the Texas motto of, “everything’s bigger”. Her size was bigger than most, her personality was bigger than most and her affinity for prescription drugs was bigger than the Rio Grande.

Bumper Sticker — “My moms collection of pill bottles is bigger than your moms”

Nikki’s exuberant personality was rewarded by friends and strangers saying “You always make me laugh”, or “You are happy all the time”.

I was privy to the persona behind the personality. I was the shoulder she cried on when she was so often embarrassed of her oversized frame.

“Is she bigger than me?” Nikki asks as we navigate our rusted Buick Lesabre through the Albertson’s parking lot.

This is Nikki’s ‘go to’ game and it unnecessarily burdens my childhood. At least I know the answer to every question is, ‘yes, she’s bigger than you”.

I allow Nikki to go ahead of me in stores. She waltzes in door frames with her head held high. I hold our shame, the shame I experience being with her and the shame I think she should carry.

I add another heap of shame by being ashamed for feeling shame. I want to love my mother no matter what. The message from the scriptures to ‘The Waltons’ is, love your parents. Why can’t I just love the boisterous, gregarious, extra large mom that God gave me?

I wander off to the condiments aisle. I have a magical power that ensures I break every mayonnaise jar I pick up. It becomes my birthright.

I attempt to halt this illogical spell by picking up a ketchup bottle, mustard jar and steak sauce, no problem. I’m a whiz.

“Misty!, Misty!…” I hear Nikki shout my name several aisles over.

I ignore her and focus on the task at hand.

“I think your mom is calling you”, a stranger interjects.

What am I? The only kid in Albertson’s right now?

“That’s not my mom”, I state and step towards Hellman’s.

“Misty! Misty!…”, her voice carries throughout the store.

I chuckle loud enough for others to hear me, “Who names their kid Misty?”

I roll my eyes turning back to my nemesis, Mayonnaise. I calculate I have 60 seconds before Nikki and her purple butterfly mumu appear.

“There you are, don’t touch the Mayo!” Nikki stands five feet away.

I calculated wrong.

“Why are you not answering me?”, she asks.

I ignore her question, but sheepishly follow her to the chip section.

Nikki inspects each bag of Doritos as if the Hope Diamond is buried beneath its cheesy crumbs.

“Does this one have more cheese, or this one?”, Nikki holds two bags in front of me.

I look through the plastic chip window and tell her the left bag holds the most cheese.

“That’s what I thought”, Nikki says.

I make this shit up as I go along. Nikki thinks I’m a buddha incarnate.

She asks me questions no adult should ask their child.

“Do you think Ramsey really likes me or is he just using me for sex?”, Nikki inquires one Saturday night.

“He’s using you.”, I reply dryly.

“That’s what I thought.”, she mutters.

I’ve learned to pick the worst case scenario she presents. When I validate her fears she sees me as having insight and knowledge beyond my capabilities.

But what do I know, I’m nine.

Nikki picks the Diritos bag I suggest and we head to the checkout lane.

“We need mayo.”, Nikki remembers.

“I can do it”, I offer.

“Are you sure?”, Nikki asks.

I march back to the condiments and casually grab a large jar of ‘Real Mayonnaise’

I can do this. It’s no big deal. I tell myself as I round towards the check-out stand.

Nikki watches me with an extreme amount of caution in her eye.

I’m playing it cool and it seems to be working. I hoist the glass jar of whipped oil and eggs on the conveyor belt and BOOM! KASPLAT! All over my faux keds.

Nikki laughs in the clerks’ direction and instructs the bagger boy to grab a replacement.

I’m batting a 1000 in this department.