"So. Ginger. Are you seeing anyone?"
I try to keep the hairs on the back of my neck from rising, because her finely-tuned mothering sensors will detect that she's gotten under my skin. My mother will find a very interesting spot on the wall to examine. My male relations will beat feet into the living room to catch some football.
My mind races. The first thing that comes into my mind is, "Why yes. I am seeing several someones. There's the guy who likes to get beers, make out on the subway platform, and never asks me to go home with him. There's the married guy who likes to hear about all my conquests and relive his glory days by telling me how he'd make my toes curl—if he could. There's my myriad guy friends who love to let their hand linger on the small of my back when their girlfriends aren't looking. But am I seeing anyone in the sense that he's going to come back here and submit to a DNA screening and fertility test to see if we'd make adorable grandchildren for you?"
I sip my wine, swallow my pride along with it, and simply say "No."
4 comments:
Same here. But because my mom lives just ten minutes away, I get the "every weekend inquisition" as well.
Oddly enough, my mother doesn't bother me on this. It's all about the potential great-grandparents. I think my Mom likes the loan-a-baby program.
My mom once told me "I am glad I had you, but I also think I'd have been happy if I didn't have kids, so whatever you decide to do is fine with me as long as you're happy." Grandma, she's got a few babies now so she won't bother me. Escape!
I see I'm not alone in the painful tradition that is otherwise known as "Is Melisa A)STILL single or B)a lesbian?"
Good times.
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