
Hey Dude (that I’m currently dating),
We need to talk. It’s about your mother.
Mostly… it’s about how I need to meet your mother. We’ve been carrying on for a while now… and I need to meet the lady that birthed you, clothed you, slapped you upside the head, and made you the awesome man you are now. If I don’t meet her soon, she will surely think me some sort of hussy harlot who was born in a barn and doesn’t much care for other people’s mothers. This is not the case. I care about most mothers, often.
It’s a lady thing that perhaps you don’t understand. I need to be nervous. I need to bite off all my nails. I need to agonize over the perfect outfit that will make me look sophisticated, but sweet and approachable, womanly without being more womanly that her. I need the outfit that says I can damn well take care of myself, and keep her dear and darling son in line for the rest of his life. It’s a fine fine fiiiine line.
I need to let your mother look me up and down in examination. I need to stand there and let her envision me as her daughter-in-law. I need to eat her casserole, express my desire for the recipe… then I need to do her dishes.
I need to let her tell me how to do things that I already know how to do, like make a pie, and pluck my eyebrows. We need to watch 60 Minutes together. She in her recliner, me sitting on the floor. I need to offer to bring dessert. She’ll make a face when it’s being served, and enjoy it despite herself. It’s all a dance. Every moment of it. It’s all a test… because mothers do not let their sons go quietly… they let them go passive aggressively.
Lastly, she needs to see that I make you happy. That’s where you come in. Don’t act weird. Well, don’t act weirder than you usually act. Be natural… and put your arm around me once in a while. It’s your job to make sure that no one gets a third glass of wine. That’s when things get weird.
It’s also your job NOT to tell your mother that there are beets in the cake I’m serving for dessert. That will be our little secret. Unless she loves it… then I’m taking all the glory.
Cool.
Love,
Joy

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