Miscellany: Conversations Loosely Related to Dating
Terrible Mother: I'm getting a lot of responses to my personal ad.
Fort Awesome: Yeah? What kinds of things did you put in there?
Terrible Mother: Lots of the smart and funny. You know, like I tell that story about how Jon and I bought each other completely dissimilar Christmas gifts that one year.
Fort Awesome: You put that on a personal ad?
Terrible Mother: Yeah. It's funny and punchy and I revised it a few times to make it work.
Fort Awesome: So basically what you're telling me is that you're using your MFA to construct the best personal ad ever?
Terrible Mother: [thinking] Shit. I think I am.
Fort Awesome: That is a depressing commentary on our society.
Terrible Mother: The fact that it takes an MFA to write a good personal ad or the fact I'm $60k in debt and all I have to show for it is a good personal ad?
Fort Awesome: [pause] Are those my only options?[Later, after Fort Awesome looks at my personal ad]
Fort Awesome: that picture of you on the dating site is not ok.
Terrible Mother: which one?
Fort Awesome: Are you wearing a cowboy hat?
Terrible Mother: You don't like that photo? It's cute! Everyone loves that picture!
Fort Awesome: Are you wearing a COWBOY HAT?
Terrible Mother: It's an ironic cowboy hat!
Fort Awesome: What, like an ironic swastika?
Terrible Mother: Thing Two dumped Cecelia* yesterday. Because she licked a marshmallow and gave it to Van.
Fatally Hip Single Mother: Dude, you just SLAYED me!
Terrible Mother: I know! It's perfect, right?
Fatally Hip Single Mother: I'm laughing so hard right now I seriously considered writing "lol" even though I'm politically and morally opposed to that.
Terrible Mother: And the best thing is he's all adult about it: "I am not old enough to get married yet anyway. We are both way too young. And she should have given the marshmallow to me."
Fatally Hip Single Mother: That last sentence just blew Thing Two's cover: "And she should have given that marshmallow to me. That faithless bitch! Toy with my heart, Cecilia! I'll show you who's the real man in this situation!"
Terrible Mother: The story slayed me. I nearly drove into the median when he piped up with that from the backseat.
Fatally Hip Single Mother: Jesus Christ, that relationship was WAY WAY too old for both of them. They really shared a connection. I mean, it was dramatic and deep enough for 15-year-olds. Licked a marshmallow. I'm dying.
Terrible Mother: I know! It's like some strange mating ritual gone horribly awry or something.
Friend R: I hear that some girls get landing strips.
Terrible Mother: Landing strips? You mean pubic hair? I thought they were called racing stripes.
Friend R: Wouldn't racing strips be horizontal?
Terrible Mother: Ummm, no.
Friend R: They'd look like merging signs.
Terrible Mother: Or traffic signals in Canada. I hate the traffic signals in Canada!
Friend R: Yeah.
Terrible Mother: But they're not horizontal. Because then how would any boy know where to go?
Friend R: If the boys you're dating are that stupid, they don't deserve it.
Terrible Mother: Me? Who said I had a racing stripe?
Friend R: Landing strip. And you should do something.
Terrible Mother: I should?
Friend R: Yes. A little upkeep.
Terrible Mother: Jesus Christ, why are we having this conversation?
Friend R: Now, I could lend you my tools.
Terrible Mother: Tools?
Friend R: You know. My beard trimmer...
Terrible Mother: [chokes on own tongue]
Friend R: ...but I think maybe that would make us a little too intimate.
Terrible Mother: Oh, you think?
Friend R: So, you should just buy your own.
Terrible Mother: Friend R, aside from all the things that are just wrong with this conversation, there is no way I can justify the expense of a hair clipper for that. I just can't.
Friend R: Well, why not?
Terrible Mother: Because it would be for one thing only. And not even a necessary thing.
Friend R: Well, you could trim Thing Two's hair with it.
Terrible Mother: Jesus! That's awful!
Friend R: What? He's been between your legs once.
A text message from Friend Omega:
“I just passed a prosthetics store. Or, as you call them, a brothel.”
Terrible Mother: I don’t know what to do with all of this. The ex keeps emailing and I want to answer him.
Friend Omega: Let this boy go. Sever. All. Ties. You know how much I hate writing. like. this. But I did it. For you... for *us*.
Terrible Mother: I love him. I think I should tell him that.
Friend Omega: Blah blah blah. Do you want to be like one of those crazy cat ladies that adopts a bunch of sick and wounded cats and she means well, but she has 90 gimp-assed cats in her house? Only with men?
Terrible Mother: No! I won’t be anything like that!
Friend Omega: I know. I was being dramatic.
Terrible Mother: Oh.
Friend Omega: And if you quote that cat lady thing for the blog, I want a chance to rewrite it.
Terrible Mother: Fine. I still think I should tell him I love him.
Friend Omega: I think that telling the ex, especially after the fact, that you love him ranks among the six or seven stupidest ideas you've had since I've known you.
Terrible Mother: Really?
Friend Omega: Yes. Listen, TM. I love maple syrup, but I know that it's no good for me. I know it makes me sick when I eat it, and as delicious as it is, it clogs up my arteries and makes me feel heavy and bloated for the entire rest of the day.
Terrible Mother: Maple syrup clogs your arteries?
Friend Omega: I hate you.
*Yeah, he "dated" this girl, Cecelia. I sorta hate the way people claim their elementary aged sons are "dating someone" as a way to, I dunno, scream "no, he's not gay!" even that early. But Thing Two and Cecelia definitely had something. And this "something" meant that Cecelia's dad and I would often find ourselves yelling "CHEEKS! You can only kiss the CHEEKS!"
**I somehow forgot to sign off and include the post script. This is what I get for posting at 3:00 am.