Over dinner the other night my Mom recounted details of her new crush. Let me give you a bit of the back story. My father died 16 years ago. My Mom- funny, smart, gregarious and beautiful- has not dated that entire time. A shame, wouldn’t you say? So the fact that she currently has fluttery feelings for a recent widower she met at the dog park is good news. Monumental news. And of course, because the Universe is a cruel tease, this is happening right before she is retiring and moving here to Seattle to be with us.
So we’re sitting there sipping our respective cocktails (her- cosmo, me- vodka tonic, Dokey- water since she hit the sauce hard the night before) and she tells us about how the last time she ran into the dog park crush his zipper was down. She was so flummoxed by this turn of events she cut their conversation short and rushed home. The next day he was not at the dog park which my mother, in her infinite wisdom, attributes to his utter humiliation. In her mind he discovered (too late) that he had encountered her with his fly down causing subsequent paralyzing mortification- so much so that he could not face her at the dog park.
(Here’s where I’d like to cast a vote but I won’t. I hold steadfast to my claim that a zipper down is not as embarrassing as having a huge piece of spinach in your teeth or an equally green booger dangling from your nose. But I digress.)
I blurted out, “The fact is, you need to get laid.” To which my Mom retorted, “The fact is that scares the hell out of me. I can’t even look at an open zipper!” That’s when my sister and I broke down in tears of laughter. It’s so painfully true and my mother is so painfully cute in her awkwardness around dating and sex. But it is really heartwarming to see her giddy about someone after all these years.
And yes, I talk to my mother like that.
And yes, she knew I was going to blog this. I whipped out my journal at the table and wrote it down. Can you blame me? Besides, there was drinking involved.