My Evil Mother

by Margaret Atwood

My mother had a thing for blue in tableware; she said it warded off any evil eyes intent on ruining the food.

“Why would I care about the tittle-tattle of the uninformed? Ignorant gossip.”

“They may not like me, but they respect me. Respect is better than like.”

“It’s hard living with someone who’s always right. Even when it turned out that she was. It can be . . . alarming.”

“You were such a sensitive child. So easily wounded. So I told you those things. I didn’t want you to feel defenseless in the face of life. Life can be harsh. I wanted you to feel protected, and to know that there was a greater power watching over you. That the Universe was taking a personal interest.”

The protector was her, the greater power was her, the Universe that took an interest was her as well; always her. “I love you,” I said.