20.19
Why Is My Mother Incapable of Dating Men With Normal Jobs?
Mum came into the kitchen, looking a bit glamorous for a Wednesday night…
‘Where are you going?’ I asked.
‘Out,’ she said.
Expansive.
‘You’ve got a date?’ I prodded.
‘…Yes.’
‘With who?’
‘The nice man we met on Halloween.’
‘Oh my God, the pumpkin carver!!!’ I practically screamed.
Mum sighed. ‘His name is Graham. And he’s a vegetable artist.’
I stopped. I stared.
‘A what?!’ I repeated. ‘What the hell is a vegetable artist?!’
‘Must you be so obsessed with my boyfriends’ jobs?’ Mum sighed. ‘Can’t you ever just focus on their personalities?’
‘I will, once you go out with someone who’s an electrician, or a plumber, or in advertising, or sales… What about sales, Mum? What about a nice, normal salesman?’
‘I don’t want to date a salesman. I want to date Graham.’
‘Well then. It’s up to you. But I’m afraid I’ll have to keep referring to him as the Pumpkin Carver.’
‘Vegetable artist,’ she replied, through gritted teeth.
She left before telling me what that meant, exactly. I’m sure time will tell.
posted by EditingEmma 17.01
Friendships Take Actual Work: A Realization
So, in amongst all my terrible friend-making, I’ve been comforting myself with the fact that at least mine and Gracie’s friendship is totally solid now. Well, I was in for a rude awakening from the cold mackerel of truth. This afternoon I was sitting with her, giggling at ‘worst sex injuries’ on the internet (which I’ve got to say, doesn’t inspire me – the most clumsy person in the universe – with much hope for my future) when she said, ‘So, when are you going to start dating again?’
‘I’m not,’ I said.
She laughed.
‘What?’ I asked.
She realized I was being sincere then, and nodded in a way I imagine she thought was supportive.
‘Gracie,’ I said. ‘People don’t have to have a love interest to lead a worthwhile and satisfying life.’
‘I know,’ she said.
Silence.
‘People don’t. You do,’ she added.
And for some reason, even though it’s completely a comment I would usually expect from Gracie, it sort of stung me out of nowhere. I’d foolishly let my guard down, because I think somehow I thought our relationship had just… I don’t know…magically transformed over the holidays. But no, here we were, just the same people as we were last term.
After she said that she went back to the laptop, as if nothing had happened, and I sat back feeling grumpy and childish. I decided to ignore her until she noticed and then go to lessons. But, clearly too enthralled by genital piercing mishaps, she didn’t notice me ignoring her… And during this time, I had time to cool off and assess my options. I thought…
1) I can carry on ignoring her
2) I can snipe back at her
3) I could actually say something
1 and 2 are definitely how I’ve spent my entire life with Gracie, up until now. I took a deep breath. I so badly wanted to walk off and scribble ‘Gracie is a butt’ over my work all afternoon (it’s very therapeutic). But I thought about my resolutions. If I wanted things to change, I was going to have to change them.
‘Gracie.’ I broke my silence (that she hadn’t yet noticed). ‘I feel like we need to chat.’
She looked up from her screen. My heart started thudding.
‘About what?’
‘Um, important relationship stuff.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘All right…’
She leaned back in her chair, looking at me expectantly.
I continued. ‘It’s just… Er.’ Oh God, this was hard. I swallowed. ‘I know we’re all good now and that’s great, but I feel like we can’t have a fight, clear the air and then just move on. I feel like maybe we need to talk about how we’re going to change our relationship, otherwise we’re just going to fight again. And clear the air. And fight again. And it will be an endless cycle of fighting and air-clearing until we have no air left to clear. Our friendship will be trapped in an airless room and die.’
‘Uh huh,’ she said, looking at me like I’d just put on a hat in the shape of a pineapple.
‘Right.’ I ploughed on regardless.‘So I’ll go first, then. I feel like…sometimes you unnecessarily make me feel like I’m being weird. Like just then. And it’s mean.’
‘Ooookay,’ she said.
‘There!’ I shouted. ‘You’re doing it again! Talking about our relationship is not a weird thing to be doing!’
She sighed. I waited.
‘All right,’ she relented. ‘I don’t think you’re weird, but this makes me feel…uncomfortable. I don’t really like talking about this. So maybe it’s a defence or something, I don’t know.’
‘GOOD!’ I yelled, doing a little dance. ‘Progress! Get it all out in the open, Gracie!’
She paused.
‘But then sometimes I do think you’re weird.’
‘Point taken. Your turn.’
‘All right, um, hmm. OK. I feel like sometimes I can’t say stuff around you because you make everything into a joke. It makes me feel like everything I say is being mocked. You never take me seriously.’
Just as she said the word ‘seriously’ she looked all pouty and I reflexively pouted back at her. She huffed and crossed her arms.
‘Oh, I see, this is one-way criticism.’
‘No, no, I’m sorry!’ I yelped. ‘It was my facial muscles. They just do silly things on their own. I do take you seriously!!’
She nodded.
‘All right, you go.’
I took a breath.
‘OK. I feel like…whenever something bad happens to me, you react in a way that makes the whole thing seem worse. Like, OH MY GOD THAT’S AWFUL, and then I feel ten times worse…like you’re rubbing it in, or something.’
She paused.
‘I feel like, that’s actually me being genuinely sympathetic. Because if half the things that happened to you last term had happened to me, I’d be mortified.’ She shuddered.
I know I found my mum’s Tinder profile, had a date where literally the only five words spoken were ‘Do you want a Minstrel?’ and accidentally went out with a thirteen-year-old, but really, does she need to shudder?
‘See! You just did it, just then!’ I shouted.