He was one of those guys whose mother was too much in the picture. He was cute, no doubt, but you could just see her showing up on the honeymoon, booking a hotel room right next door to yours— with adjoining doors.
Just at the moment… in she’d waltz, all sunny, making believe her sonny wasn’t screwing you in the big heart-shaped bed.
Yeah, so it’s corny. But you always saw a heart-shaped honeymoon bed. Love is corny, by its very nature. When it stops being corny it turns scary. Best to keep one of those corn-husky things tied to your front door announcing to all: Corn is alive and well here.
So you went and got yourself a Mama’s boy. Eeegad. How did that happen? Macho-men used to be around every bend in the road. Did you tire of the forceful sex that that type demanded— demanded compliance?
So you got yourself a sensitive guy, all sweetness. Then realized: there’s an awful lot of mommy in the conversation.
Not right now, you say when he asks to take you home to meet his mother.
This isn’t the right time, you say a week or so later.
I don’t think so, you say when he looks puzzled that you don’t want to meet his mother. Ever.
Finally you tell him: I’m a bitch. Fancy me with a sweet woman like your mother. She sounds too sweet to endure me.