I painted a picture- green sky- and showed it to my mother.
She said that's nice, I guess.
So I painted another holding the paintbrush in my teeth,
Look, Ma, no hands. And she said
I guess someone would admire that if they knew
How you did it and they were interested in painting which
     I am not.

I played clarinet solo in Gounod's Clarinet Concerto
With the Buffalo Philharmonic. Mother came to listen and said
That's nice, I guess.
So I played it with the Boston Symphony,
Lying on my back and using my toes,
Look, Ma, no hands. And she said
I guess someone would admire that if they knew
How you did it and they were interested in music which
     I am not.

I made an almond souffle and served it to my mother.
She said that's nice, I guess.
So I made another, beating it with my breath, Serving it with my elbows,
Look, Ma, no hands. And she said I guess someone would admire that if they knew
How you did it and they were interested in eating which
     I am not.

So I sterilized my wrists, performed the amputation, threw away
My hands and went to my mother, but before I could say
Look, Ma, no hands, she said
I have a present for you and insisted I try on
The blue kid-gloves to make sure they were the right size.
Accomplishments- Cynthia MacDonald

Sometimes the troubled narcissist had parents who did offer love, except- the love they offered was of the wrong kind. Their love was not for the child himself but only for the child- as- an- ornament, a self- adorning flower in their lapel.
The unspoken deal is this: If you will bury the parts I don't like, then I will love you.