Corn by Susan Tepper

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?

Could be.

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.