My mother learned not to ask about my love life years ago, sometime around 1990. That was at the end of a decade that declared a woman over 30 had as much a chance of getting married as being hit by lightning. I’m sure she desperately wanted my sister and I to get married so we’d have the standard, acceptable life she’d lived. Our 1990 argument was about why I didn’t have a boyfriend, that perhaps I was too picky, and it got pretty ugly. Despite all my perceived “defects,” I eventually got married and so did my sister. Well we’re both divorced now and thank goodness my sister’s contentious divorce provides my mother with so much to worry about that she doesn’t concern herself with my love life. I think she still knows not to ask.
I recently made the mistake of mentioning my dating adventures to my mom. First it was the socially awkward one, which caused her to worry about my safety. I told her that since it took him two subway rides and two cab rides to find his way to meet me, I didn’t think he’d have much luck tracking me down. Then it was a more recent man whose company I’d enjoyed; I said I was actually looking forward to seeing again. I should’ve known better. As soon as I told her there was someone I liked, he stopped calling. And texting and emailing. Oh well. Easy come, easy go. At least I can be thankful that my mom won’t be asking about him!
Update on this: I got a few more “Scrabble emails” from the guy. (Yes, Scrabble emails are emails that take place in the midst of a Scrabble game, and not some weird sex-related euphemism.) But he hasn’t texted or called since our last game, so I’m assuming the insistent desires behind his multiple “I want to make out with you” texts have since faded. Sigh. And yes, my mom did ask about him. She won’t be asking again.