After the call with Amy, Jill called her mother in Hartford. Have Jill retell the story for her mother. Mom is just as much of a priss as Jill. Have her mother, Ann, respond with each point in the story.
### Jill’s Call to Her Mom
As soon as Jill hung up with Amy, her mortification reignited at the thought of reliving her fall. But she couldn’t help herself—there was one more person she just had to call: her mother, Ann, who was perhaps the only person on Earth who could fully
understand the utter horror of what Jill had just been through. After all, Ann had raised her with the same commitment to elegance and avoiding anything remotely dirty or unrefined.
Jill tapped her mom’s contact, and the phone rang twice before Ann picked up with her usual crisp, elegant tone.
Ann:
“Jill, darling! Is everything all right? How did your shoot go?” Her mother's voice was smooth, expecting nothing less than perfection in her daughter’s day.
Jill:
“Oh, Mom…” Jill sighed dramatically, her mind reliving each muddy second. “You have
no idea. It was a disaster. An absolute disaster!” Without realizing it, she slipped into the dramatic cadence her mother adored.
Ann:
There was a brief pause on the other end as if Ann were processing the shock of Jill’s admission. "A disaster? On the
farm?” Ann said, her voice laced with distaste at even mentioning the word
farm. “Tell me
everything, darling. What happened?"
---
### Jill Retelling the Story to Ann
Jill:
“Well, I was so careful this morning, Mom. I picked out my
perfect white linen ankle capris. You know, the ones we got in Martha’s Vineyard last spring? And I paired them with my brand new Tretorns—the ones with the
blue plaid stripe from their spring collection!”
Ann:
“Oh yes, of course, I remember those shoes. I told you the plaid made them such a step above ordinary canvas sneakers... so fresh for the season." Ann let out a sigh of approval, her tone filled with the comforting knowledge that her daughter's style had been impeccable, as always. "
White linen, though? On a
farm? Oh, Jillian, I would’ve made the very same choice. It shows class, but I can already tell where this is headed. How could you march around a farm without ruining such an outfit?”
---
Jill:
“Well, it was fine for most of the day. I was
so dainty, Mom—I tipped and
toed around every bit of mud, like I was walking through a minefield! And... oh my God, I even had one of the farmhands lay down fresh straw in some of the muddier spots to keep my outfit intact!”
Ann:
"Oh, I
love that level of foresight!" Ann said with approval. "I would’ve done the exact same thing. Can you imagine expecting your clothes to touch
mud? Not a chance! But a farmhand, you say? Laying straw? I do hope the planks were thick so you didn’t have to balance terribly... but your efforts sound flawless so far, dear.”
---
Jill:
“They were! The farmhand thought I was
over the top, but I was all, ‘Look, you may live with mud, but I do
not!’” Jill huffed, frustrated even recalling it. "And my Tretorns... Mom, they were
perfect the entire time. The canvas was pristine, practically glowing in the sun!"
Ann:
“I’ve always said shoes are the
centerpiece, Jillian. You know that. If the shoes are flawless, even the
suggestion of mud can’t detract from perfection!" Ann sounded almost proud as she imagined her daughter standing there, her bright white shoes rising above the grime. "But...
I sense something terrible is coming." Her voice dropped, prepared for the horror Jill was about to reveal.
---
Jill:
“Mom, I was
obsessing over them. I kept checking every few minutes, making sure nothing had gotten on them. I was inspecting them like they were treasures in a museum.” Jill’s voice dropped, the weight of Disaster Jill setting in. “And then…” she paused for dramatic effect, “I decided—against all reason—that I needed a pic for Instagram.”
Ann:
“
What do you mean, decided?” Ann gasped. “That’s practically a requirement! I mean, what would be the point of such a pristine morning without the evidence? You should be
celebrating the fact that you stayed so clean! But… oh no…” She dashed her thoughts against the obvious, her voice thick with motherly intuition. “Go on, what happened?”
---
Jill:
“I was feeling too proud, Mom. I had it all—the angle, the sun hitting my Tretorns perfectly... I even
wiggled my toes inside them because they felt so comfy!” She sighed. “Then... the
hay bale I was standing on gave way. And I
tumbled... directly into the
muddiest pit imaginable!” Jill put as much drama in her voice as she could, still cringing as the memory replayed in her mind.
Ann:
"
NO!" Ann gasped, sounding like someone had just revealed a
scandal. “You—fell? Into the
mud? Oh my
God! Your outfit, Jillian. Your shoes!
Your hair! How did this
happen? Who
left you standing on a hay bale of all things? Don't they realize that those things are barely stable?!” Ann’s outrage was palpable, as if someone had
personally wronged her.
---
Jill:
“I know!” Jill all but wailed. “The hay bale just
crumbled under my foot. And I tried to balance myself, but it was too late. And, Mom, the
worst part was, I could feel my shoes sinking in as I hit the mud.” Her voice lowered to a horrified whisper. “I didn’t just fall... I slid. My pants, my blouse...
everything was covered!”
Ann:
“You
slid?” Ann’s voice dripped with incredulity. “Oh, Jillian, I can’t even... My
heart is breaking. You slid into that pit like some...
casual bystander who doesn’t care about their appearance?! With
linen on no less? Words fail me.”
---
Jill:
“Mom, you don’t
understand,” Jill said, her voice matching her mom’s level of disbelief. “I tried to get up, but I kept
slipping in the mud. It was
humiliating. And Joe”—she rolled her eyes—“was
filming the whole thing. I literally asked him, in the mud, ‘Did you get that?’ and he had the
nerve to say yes!”
Ann:
“Filmed?!” Ann’s voice reached a new level of shock. “
Why was no one
helping you? Oh, Jillian, that is by far the worst offense! Not only are you trapped in filthy mud but it’s been
documented! I can’t even
fathom the indignity of it all. What
is this, some sort of sad farm ritual to embarrass visitors? They should be ashamed!”
---
Jill:
"And after I finally got up, I just
stood there, covered head to toe in muck, Mom... My
Tretorns. They were completely ruined. When I got back in the car, it felt like
mush inside my shoes—like I was walking through pudding." She groaned. "I looked down at my outfit, and I wanted to
cry. Everything I’d worked so hard to keep spotless? Gone in two seconds.”
Ann:
“Oh, Jillian, darling..." Ann gasped dramatically. "That's devastating.
Mush?
Inside your
Tretorns?" She actually sounded pained. “I honestly don’t know how you maintained your composure. This is a
tragedy of the highest caliber. Do you want me to call the company about the hay bale instability? I can make sure they’re held accountable for this entire episode.”
Jill:
“Mom, I don’t think we’re suing the
hay company, but thank you,” Jill said, shaking her head even though Ann couldn’t see her.
Ann:
“Well, as soon as you’re home, send me the link to where you got those shoes and that blouse. I’ll have replacements shipped
immediately. And please—promise me you'll have the car detailed tomorrow. We simply
cannot let any traces of this disaster remain.”
---
Jill:
“I will, Mom. Thanks.” Jill couldn’t help but smile. It felt good to be understood—even if the entire situation had been humiliating.
Ann:
“And, darling?"
Jill:
“Yes?”
Ann:
“Never,
ever trust farm equipment again.”
Jill:
“Absolutely not. Lesson learned.”
And with that, Jill felt just a fraction better, knowing that at least her mom had her prissy back.
