Today I have a guest post for the first time! Yaaaaay! I’m so honored. That means you don’t have to suffer through my nonsensical ramblings in a vain attempt to minstrel over the fact that I am blog-brain-dead. (Really, this is for the best.) Her name is …. Marilyn… Rock-ing-ton..ment. Marilyn Rockingtonment, yes, that’ll do. And I’d like to say that if you love sardonic wit…you’re in for a treat. 🙂
I’m single now. I guess. That’s what my mother insists at least. I have a friend who claims that “single” will not be my true status until the final papers have been signed and the ink has dried, which will not be for another couple of months. And I will be using quick drying ink. Why does it matter? Not the ink, the singleness. For my mother it seems my life is beginning to resemble a Nicholas Sparks story [I can’t call his stories “books”; I love books too much for that].
She tells me that she imagines I will meet an attractive man in his mid-forties (I’m 30). Her preference seems to be that this man is a widower; though, after some discussion of the relationship complications that could arise I eventually got her to compromise and she allowed that he may have just never gotten married. Which relieved me because, as I told her, how can I live up to a saintly dead wife? That’s right, I can’t. So now he is just a never married guy in his forties WHO she insists, is one of the kindest, most understanding men she’s ever met (I think she meant me, but I refuse to encourage this anymore), he’s been through life’s hardships, which have tempered any testosterone-fueled, aggressive male tendencies and SOMEHOW made him an excellent communicator. Oh yeah, and endless patience. That is why it is called a fantasy, my friends. I asked her, if this guy is supposed to be in his forties how old am I when I meet him, like fifty-six? That changes things, doesn’t it now? She didn’t seem to appreciate my contribution to her fantasy, which she hasn’t shared with me since.
Oh, mothers. She seems to believe that after eleven years of a horrifically dysfunctional marriage I will be the perfect match for some unsuspecting, kind, patient man. Why she would want to do that to this nice man, I do not know. Though, the further away I get from my marriage the clearer the dysfunction becomes, I’m not naïve enough to assume that simply ending the marriage also magically solved the relational issues I brought to the table. Which, according to my mother were being too rational and understanding of a crazy person. But, that is HER opinion. I can say, with absolute certainty that in the long run those tactics do not work with crazy people. They need medication. Lots and lots of medication, and possibly a special little club where they can hang out with other crazy people and leave the rest of us alone. Oh yeah. And their own internet.
Oh, Ms. Rickstalvont – I…can’t be arsed to scroll back up and read your first fake name – give us a smile!