The Family Flirt

So, this has not exactly been my summer of blazing romance…
Here’s my latest experience in the disconcerting dating scene.  Perhaps you should grab a drink before reading – I had to!
On holidays in Northern Cosmopolitan City, my parents and I went into the nearest town for dinner.  On the way, we had to stop at the grocery store to grab some grub for later in the week.  While picking peas in the pod outside, I felt someone watching me.  I turned around to find a nice-looking older man (I’m fixated on fossils!) checking me out.  Grocery store pick ups are difficult to navigate, but I felt it might happen.  As I walked into the store, he followed me in and casually looked around everywhere I went.  I was flattered. I was feeling it!  While standing at the cash with my mother, the vainglorious vixen also known as June Cleaver Blogshaw, I pointed out the philandering silver fox.  June’s reaction: “Oh, I thought he was checking me out…”  Um, no.
As we left the store, I felt disappointed and dejected.  How could I have engineered the encounter to include an introduction?  Knowing that we were heading to the restaurant, I thought about how serendipitous it would be if he just happened to be heading there, too.  We had to stop for gas, which was convenient as the restaurant is also the local fuel station.  Fancy, I know.  As my diligent dad, Ward, worked the pump, June and I entered the bistro.  As we walked in, I noticed the silver fox right behind me.  Yes!  I knew that we would be able to focus on our flirtation while inside.  The waitress took us to our table, which was situated in front of the table of a family of four.  With a single mom.  I waited for the silver fox to request a table next to ours.  Imagine my shock and horror as he walked over to the family table.  To take his spot..  With his wife and 3 children…  Ugh!
The worst?  His seat was directly in my line of view.   He spent the entire meal trying not to look directly at me, while stealing glances when the fam weren’t watching.  Um, yeah… No. 
In my long-suffering experience of dating I have experienced all sorts of dubious dilemmas.  I have encountered many types that I have had to learn to watch out for:  The Alcoholic Workaholic, The Sexaholic Workaholic, The Alcoholic Sexaholic Workaholic,  The Stone Wall…  And now, The Family Flirt!

If It's Not One Thing, It's My Mother: Yeesh

Free as a snowbird, I have travelled all the way to Sunny Southern State to enjoy a relaxing vacation. With my parents.. On a golf course... Okay, so it's not exactly South Beach, but Shady Pines has it's pluses.
I had only been here a day when I noticed that my parents, Ward and June Cleaver-Blogshaw, had given each other Valentines Day cards. So sweet. Or so I thought. I innocently took the time to read the cards, which were displayed on the kitchen counter (no, I wasn't rummaging through their dresser drawers... that was the next day).
I looked at the pink and red card first. It was from Ward to June. The sentiment read: "They say Valentines Day is all about the love. Which is good, because somebody ate all the candy. Oh well, have a great day." Awwwwww, cute.
The pink card with sparkly purple designs was from June to Ward. The sentiment read: "Oh, you've set my heart to racing. Feel it? That's not my heart." The inside caption said: "Happy Valentines from someone you can always misbehave with."
The picture was of an old man with a pop-up arm that jerked himself off whenever you open and close the card. Ewwwwww. I didn't realize it was going to be this hot at Shady Pines! Yech.

Moving. On.

Holy sh*t. Did I mention that G Spot and I bought a place together?? Did I mention that I moved? Did I mention that, therefore, G Spot and I will be moving in together??? In keeping with the theme of the past few months, which is change, we bought a fabulous condo together and will be moving in this Spring. Fortunately, for both our sakes, we don't have to move in together right away. Why is that? Well, it's because I was able to move in with my parents, good old Ward & June. Yep...

Moving out of my former bachelorette pad was painful. I had many good years there. I had many quiet evenings there. I prepared for many dates there. I came home and pondered the existence of useless men there. I brought useless men there. I cried over useless men there. I wrote all previous posts there. It's where G Spot and I had our first touchy feely makeout session. It's where we had s*x for the first time. It's where we exchanged Xmas gifts for the first time. It's where we fought for the first time (but not the last!). It's sad.

In true dating doyenne style, I've passed my love nest on to a savvy, young bachelor. Really, it's as it should be. I now have 6 months in which to prepare myself for cohabitation. I'm sure it will be fun to have a roommate. Maybe we'll have pillow fights, jump on the bed while listening to our fave songs, do arts and crafts... You know, things roommates do... Am I excited for this new phase of coupledom? Yes. Am I scared sh*tless about this phase simultaneously? Yes. Will I miss my former single life, where it was totally acceptable to come home from work, lounge around in ratty t's, watch ridiculous reality shows about dating, eat chocolate for dinner and drink right out of the container? Hell, yes!

Vera Wanker

This weekend, I found myself at one of the most upscale bridal shops in Cosmopolitan City. I should preface this by mentioning that I haven’t been to many weddings at all (let alone trying to plan one). I’m pretty much a nuptual novice. Perhaps I should have brought an entourage to help me find a dress, however I felt that I would have an easer time on my own. Having an easy time at Upscale Bridal Shop was not meant to be.

Quite typically, I encountered the worst of the stereotype of the hoity-toity salesperson. It was so Pretty Woman. Ummmm, ladies, please remember… You work there. I shop there. ‘Nuff said. Trust me - if I didn’t have the gold Visa limit of my mother, the spare-no-expense-for-the-love-of-god-you’re-finally-getting-married June Cleaver-Blogshaw, I wouldn’t have bothered walking through the door. Jeez!

Apparently, according to the Vera Wankers, it’s simply scandalous to ask if the famed designer would create such an ungodly concoction as a cocktail or tea length dress. The horror! You would have thought that I’d asked where the collection of polyester dresses was… I also had the nerve to ask if any of the Wankers were available to help me, as most were just sitting around looking average. After much dissatisfied clucking and rolling of the eyes, I was told that they only work by appointment. Of course. Since when did wankers become important enough to work by appointment only??? In my experience, you certainly don’t need a good time to have a Vera Wanker!

Thought For The Day

I would like to take the time to point out that people who criticize or try to find fault in your or my relationship are miserable in their own relationship. So, to all the haters, as my mother, the intolerant June Cleaver Blogshaw would say, please f*ck off and die.
Thanks

If It's Not One Thing, It's My Mother: Cold Front

Wow! Just when I thought it couldn't get more bizarre on the other side of Cosmopolitan City, I had my mother tell me about her weekend. Yikes. Her story, like many others, shows how very, very hard men are to train. Properly.

Ward and June, tired from having moved into their new digs, decided to kick back and watch some telly. In true form, my technologically-challenged father, Ward, broke the television in the family room. According to my mother, the tuned-in and tormented June Cleaver-Blogshaw, Ward walked into the bedroom, stole the remote from her hot little hands and turned on a movie about war (zzzzzzz!) that he'd already seen. June asked him if he remembered that he'd already seen that movie and he said he did remember (the cheek!). June stormed out of the bedroom and was forced to re-watch Come Dance With Me (an old Richard Gere/J. Lo vehicle that no decent person should be forced to watch once, let alone twice). She was so pissed that she slept in the guest bedroom and didn't speak to Ward until the next day.

Ward, having perhaps clued in earlier, feigned ignorance the next day... June asked him if he knew why she'd slept in the guest room the night before (ahhhh, passive aggressive questioning - an oldie but a goodie!!!). Ward responded that he must have been snoring. Wrong! June asked him what he might have done the night before that would have pissed her off (passive-aggressive, indirect and hostile!). Ward, predictably, had no clue. June threw her hands up in despair and advised him to "f*ck off and die."

The moral of the story? There isn't one. This is simply an observation that, after 35 years of training, my father is just as clueless and my mother is just as harried as the were when they got married.

Out of sight, out of mind?

Nope! Look at us grow! Yep, my worldly lover, G Spot and I took a mini break together to the beautiful, exciting, expensive and expansive city of New York. The trip involved a lot of careful planning and itinerary-arranging on my part (apparently this is an area of great challenge for most men...), but it was well worth it. Knowing that we can travel together without incident (or insolence) is a nice lesson learned. Phew!

After our successful city tour, I continued on to a week long vacay with Ward and June at Shady Pines in Sunny Southern State. It was a fabulous and much needed vacation, especially considering the copious amount of careful planning and itinerary-arranging that I had been up to for weeks before... Now, G Spot and I have been separated by vacations before, but this time was really tough. After a few days of soaking up the sun by the pool and checking out the sad state of silver foxes driving bright red, convertible Mercedes while checking out their neighbours daughters (ew!), the pangs of absence became pronounced. Things worsened throughout the remainder of the trip. By the last day, although the thought of having to leave to go back to real life was dissatisfactory the thought of not being able to connect with my G Spot for another day (I know, I know!!!), was too much to bear.

Contrary to many of my past dating experiences, I was actually looking forward to seeing G Spot when I returned. We had a nice reunion at the really romantic airport terminal (where I was sweating like a whore at customs trying to smuggle all my vacay loot into Cosmopolitan City) and great sex afterwards, proving that not only does absence make the heart grow fonder, but abstinence makes the heart grow fonder, too!

If It's Not One Thing, It's My Mother: Back Off!

JE-SUS! I had the opportunity to spend an afternoon with my mother, the lovely yet painfully direct and therefore hurtful, June Cleaver-Blogshaw. It was very, very nice of my mother to take me to the hospital to endure a painful medical procedure. It was not nice of her, however, to verbally and emotionally abuse me afterwards...

Having returned to her condo and in intense pain, I took some time to have a rest. After a few minutes, I was beckoned by everyone's favourite mercenary matriarch:

June Cleaver-Blogshaw: "Carrie, can you bring me my Coke?"
(contrary to what everyone might think, she meant her glass of Coke, and not a line of coke, but I can plainly see how her demand could be misconstrued...)
Carrie Blogshaw: "I'll be right there..." (when my head stops pounding and I can heave myself off this oasis of a couch...)
June: "But fill it up with a new Coke from the fridge first - I don't like it to be flat"
Carrie: ~ sigh ~

After delivering Her Highness's libation of choice, she announced that the date had been set for my brother, the provocative planner, Beavis Blogshaw's, wedding. The great news? They chose my birthday weekend. Fabulous. Not only will I have to participate in the wedding and be judged by friends and family alike (while wearing a ridiculous and unflattering meringe-like dress), I will have to suffer through the ordeal on my birthday weekend. Yep, of all the weekends in that whole month, they chose to plan their nuptuals on my big day. This is so 'Sixteen Candles'... To top it all off, as one of my smart single gal pals reminded me this evening, my birthday will coincide with their anniversary for the rest of my life. Great - I'll be overshadowed for eternity!

I mentioned to June that it would be the weekend of a milestone birthday for me. She said she knew, but what could she do? I asked if she had mentioned to them (my bro lacks the capacity to remember anniversaries, birthdays and other important dates - an affliction that most men suffer from) that it would be an important weekend for me and if they could choose another of the 4 weekends available to them in that month. The curt conversation went something like this:

Carrie: "Did you mention that it is my birthday weekend?"
June: "No"
Carrie: "Why not?"
June: "Beavis's wedding is more important than your birthday. Weddings trump birthdays."

That ended the conversation.

The moral of the story? I would like to inform you all that I am no longer scared of getting married. Instead, I am greatly anticipating it. In fact, I am planning it right now. All I know so far is that it will be HUGE, both my bro and his fiancee will be in it and it will fall on the day of either my mother or my brother's birthday!!!

Shades of Grey

There is no easy way to say this. There was no easy way to discover this. Thank the lord I'm in therapy already (and I'm sure my therapist will love hearing about this one)... Well, here goes..... I found a grey hair on my bikini line this afternoon. Wow. I was horrified. I was in disbelief - was it possible that I'm growing blonde hairs down there???!!! I screamed a little bit. I cried a little bit. I barfed a little bit.

Today's discovery led me right back to the episode of Sex and the City when Samantha found a grey hair in the full bush that she had grown for Smith. She was devastated. At the time, I thought the episode was hilarious - definitely one of my faves. Her reaction was priceless and my friends and I laughed and laughed. Now, I am devastated and can totally empathize with Samantha. Who's laughing now???!!!

Samantha was afraid to pluck, in case 4 grow back in it's place. She tried colouring her pubes, which didn't work out... What to do? Like her, I am afraid to pluck, as I don't want 4 more grey bastards down there. I don't want to do highlights (in an effort for the carpet to match the curtains) and I don't want to go bald. What will G Spot think? Should I keep quiet and wait till he notices it?? Should I put a long, grey streak in my hair like What Not To Wear's Stacey London and pretend that it's stylish??? For the love of good genes, even my mother, the follicly fertile June Cleaver-Blogshaw, doesn't have grey pubes.... Perhaps I should move into a retirement villa to make the experience more authentic???!!! There is no shade of grey here - this is a black or white situation where grey is not an option. Yeesh!

"Going to the chapel and I'm...

... not getting ma-a-arried. Gonna be a bridesmaid and that's really, really sca-a-ary...."

It's official - my little bro, Beavis, has set a date to be married, booked a church and, most offensive of all, his fiancee has asked that I be a bridesmaid in the wedding. Shoot me. As I have maintained throughout my rants - I mean posts - I am very happy for them and wish them all the best. I was looking forward to attending the wedding. I was not expecting to be in the wedding. It's like rubbing salt in a wound. My mother, the cloying event-planner June Cleaver-Blogshaw, is nothing less than thrilled. To ease the process of judgement for all, I'll be standing before everyone just begging to be picked apart like a witch on trial or a whore at church.... wait a minute.....

In summary, I will be forced to participate in the following torture:

* hen party ridiculousness
* shower ridiculousness
* I'll have to work extra hard at the gym to defy the laws of gravity in the meantime
* I'll have to buy and wear what will no doubt be a ridiculous and unflattering meringue-like dress
* I will literally have to stand in front of the jury and be on display for all to point and laugh at like the bearded lady at the circus (and, like said bearded lady, I would like to maintain that I am a victim of circumstance...)

Ohhhhh, and god help me, I'll have to participate in the humiliating ritual of the tossing of the bouquet, which, undoubtedly, I'm doomed to miss, drop or take right in the head!!!

If it's not one thing, it's my mother: too much information

My mother, the lovely yet altogether way too graphic (and apparently arid) June Cleaver Blogshaw, figures prominently in my posts. This is because she is a dominant and overbearing force in my life. Regardless, I do love the woman. Even after what happened this evening…

After a typical Blogshaw Sunday dinner, my mother (having dipped into the Grey Goose, white wine and what looked to be a Vicodin…) started telling jokes about sex. This always makes me nervous, as I have a nightmarish memory of walking in on Ward and June getting it on when I was a pre-teen. The image was horrifying and is burned deep into my memory. I can’t remember what I need to buy at the drug store or what I ate for lunch today, but I sure can tell you their favourite sexual position…

Anyhoo, June made some crack about condoms. Thinking that my parents haven’t had sex since that life-altering, memory-making moment years ago, I jokingly asked what brand she prefers. Well, it turns out she’s a Trojan woman and the convo went something like this:

June Cleaver-Blogshaw: “I like Trojan condoms.”
Carrie: “I prefer the femidom……”
June Cleaver-Blogshaw: “It’s true! Your father and I need to use condoms because I have a very dry vagina.”
~ shock. horror ~
Carrie: “I didn’t need to know that. You don’t do it very often…… right???”
June: “Well, your father does have a heart condition, you know…”
~ barf ~

Now, I’m glad that I have a close relationship with my mother, even if she drives me crazy most of the time. It’s great for mothers and daughters to be able to share stuff, but let me tell you, this sh*t should be off limits. For the love of God, I urge you, no matter what the conditions are, to walk away/cover your ears/hit yourself in the head with the closest iron skillet if your mother ever offers up too much information of that nature. Jeez!

Isn't it fabulous when your little brother gets engaged......

before you do???!!!...... This is supposed to be a happy time and I am genuinely pleased for my brother, the annoying yet endearing Beavis Blogshaw, and his fiancee. They are both lovely people and they seem to have a good thing going. Good for them! How does this story relate to me? The way he broke the news. So, what should have been a time of celebration and excitement became a time of pressure and insecurity. It went like this:

Beavis: "Hey Carrie, are you sitting down?"
Carrie: "No - I'm at work and we're not encouraged to engage in comforting behaviour..."
Beavis: "Sit down"
Carrie: "What's up?"
Beavis: "Now...... I don't want you to feel any pressure, but your little brother just got engaged!"

Yeah, okay! I wasn't feeling any pressure until I was told NOT TO FEEL ANY PRESSURE..... WTF???!!! I was expecting this news - I had encouraged Beav to pop the question over the holidays and I knew he'd been looking at rings, but I wasn't prepared for the tables to be turned on me. Afterwards, I spoke to my mother. Needless to say, things worsened from there... The convo with our family matriarch, the highly annoying woman who continually beats me with a pressure stick, June Cleaver Blogshaw, went something like this:

June Cleaver Blogshaw: "Did you hear the news? Isn't it exciting?? I have to go put on some lipstick!!!"
Carrie: ???!!!
June Cleaver Blogshaw: "I'm going for lunch with the girls on Friday and I can't wait to tell them the exciting news that Beavis is engaged!!! And then they'll all wonder - what about Carrie???"
Carrie: at this point I was choking back tears and had to end the conversation. I cried all the way to the gym, where I then used my anger to obliterate invisible opponents in my combat class.......

What about Carrie? Well, here's the deal. I am aware of the natural/birth order of things. I am aware that it is societally expected of me to reach these mating milestones first, as I am the older child. I have not yet reached any mating milestones. What can I say? I'm not engaged. I was almost engaged once (to The Alcoholic Workaholic) and that wouldn't have been a good story. So, what about Carrie? I think there are other things about Carrie that might be worth mentioning, such as Carrie works really hard at her job and is doing her best to set herself up for success in 2010. Carrie has great friends and a very active social life. Carrie writes a well-received blog about dating, mating and relating. Carrie is very happy in a healthy relationship with a great guy, the sex maniac known as G Spot. All in all, Carrie is good. Why is it, then, that the only thing that's interesting about Carrie in my mother's friends eyes, is my marital status or lack thereof???

Here are some points that I might mention to my mother after I have worked it out with my therapist:
* Carrie is right where she needs to be. Carrie, over the past few years, has had 3 men tell her that they want to spend the rest of their lives with her and it was said of their own free will - Carrie never applied any pressure
* Carrie has dated many people over many years and has taken the time to reflect on the qualities that she can do without and made a laundry list of the qualities that she needs
* Carrie does not want to date or be married to anyone who is lacking the qualities that it would take to be happily married
* Carrie enjoys her independence and also enjoys being in a relationship that lacks the drudgery of a life spent living with a partner
* Carrie, being a disenchanted atheist who has enjoyed sex before marriage for many years, fears ever having a church ceremony in case she bursts into flames....

I met HIS fockers...

… and it went pretty well. They seem like nice fockers. I’ve been in so many dead-end relationships over the past few years that I haven’t had to deal with fockers much lately... Now that G Spot and I are close enough that we want to torture each other by subjecting ourselves to our respective peeps and fockers, we’re opening a can of worms… What will happen when one of us introduces the other to someone that we can’t stand? And you know, without doubt, that this will happen. How do I know this? Experience. Not only have I dated people in the past who come from questionable fockers, my parents each happen to detest most of the other’s fockers.

So, my question is…… At what point can one begin to be honest about disliking their partners peeps/fockers? Is there a time frame?? A certain strength of relationship??? A certain number of exposures before one can comment fairly???? All of the above?

My mother, the difficult yet endearing June Cleaver Blogshaw, waited until she was married to Ward (my father, from a family of incredibly difficult personalities and a son in law who’s crazier than a rat in a tin sh*t house…), before she told him how much she disliked his sister. And his brother-in-law. And his cousin(s). Ward also waited until they were married to tell my mother how much he disliked her mother. And sister. And father. Jeez! Seems like a lot of personality clashes, but isn’t it better to have it out in the open? I am of that opinion. If G Spot doesn’t like my peeps (for good reason), I would be understanding and try to keep exposure to the offensive fockers at a minimum. I’m hoping he would do the same for me. I think it’s better to be honest about this up front instead of (like in the movie) discreetly trying to flush offensive family members down the toilet at social gatherings….. Your thoughts???

meet the fockers

Talk about making progress on the dating scene. Talk about reaching a mating milestone. I’m finally dating someone who is worthy of making the biggest, most potentially painful and certainly scary sacrifice for. Yep, I decided a while ago that G Spot is someone who is worthy of introducing to my fockers.

It all went down this weekend up at the cottage. Not only did the meet and greet have to happen north of the comforts of city living, the poor guy had to endure 3 days of it. What a trooper. However much I liked him before, it’s definitely been enhanced now. Sexy.

The weeks leading up to the meeting of the fockers were anxious ones for my mother. Poor June (the wanna-be wedding planner), she’s been dying to meet G Spot for weeks, if not months. She wanted to learn as much about his background as possible before meeting him, as both she and my father have the uncanny ability to say just the wrong thing at just the wrong moment. When she wanted to know about his background, I mentioned that he had a German heritage. Hearing this, June instantly needed to know if he, or anyone in his family, is a Nazi. The reason? Because most of their friends are Jewish. Seriously – this is a discussion that we had at the dinner table a couple of weeks ago…….. When I asked how she would like him to address her, she said she wanted him to call her Mrs. Cleaver-Blogshaw, not June, as she prefers formal introductions. I forced the issue to see if we could make it more casual by using first names, but she wouldn’t make any concessions other than giving him permission to call my father “Pappa.” ???!!! Whatever.

So, it went well. My parents seem to be bigger fans of him than they are of me, which at this point is okay. Of course, June couldn’t resist telling embarrassing stories of my younger years, but that is standard and I’m pretty sure that even normal parents do that. My mother managed to restrain herself from making wedding plans and my father did not beg G Spot to make me an honest woman and to take me off the Blogshaw family payroll. Compared to the meeting of the real Fockers, this was pretty tame - no one was insulted, home renovations weren’t sabotaged, babies weren’t taught to swear and small dogs weren’t flushed down the toilet. However, there is always next weekend……

Family Feud

It's hard to believe that another year has passed since the last Blogshaw family Christmas. This year, we found ourselves spending Christmas in a gated golf community (fancy talk for retirement villa) in a sunny southern state. Once we got used to our new surroundings at the lovely Shady Pines, we sat down to our classy Christmas dinner from Publix.

As 2 of us were exhausted from the flight, the Christmas convo was pretty slow and not at all offensive to any particular member of the Blogshaw family, which was a nice change. It was not, however, to last. The tryptophan from the turkey, which is supposed to induce sleep, had the opposite effect on my father, Ward Cleaver-Blogshaw and my brother, Beavis Blogshaw. The topic turned to an estranged friend of the family, thereby taking the focus off any of us. As my father and brother discussed what Estranged Friend might be up to these days, my father asked me (as I sometimes bump into Estranged Friend on nights out in downtown Cosmopolitan City) if he is in a relationship. To the best of my knowledge, I replied that I didn't think so. This led my father to wonder (out loud, of course) what Estranged Friend's problem is with relationships. My interest in the conversation piqued at this ponderance. The convo took a dangerous turn:

Ward: "Why is he not married? What's his problem? Do you think he's gay?"
Beavis: "Probably"
Carrie: "WTF???"
Ward: "Well, why is he not married at his age? He goes through girlfriends like Hefner. There must be something wrong with him"
Beavis: "Yeah"
Carrie: "What? I'm not married, so am I GAY???"
June: "You're not gay"
Ward: "You've had some serious relationships... All his relationships fail."
Carrie: "Newsflash: ALL OF MY RELATIONSHIPS HAVE FAILED. Does that mean I'm gay?"
Beavis: "Uhhhhhhhh..."

That exchange brought upon a diatribe that would make most spinsters terribly proud. It also ended the annual Blogshaw family dinner.
What really bothered me about the opinions expressed by my family is that they feel that there is something wrong with Estranged Friend because he has not found a life partner. What bothers me more is that they feel like he's such a lost cause at his age. He's only 3 or 4 years older than I am!

Like every new year, I hope for myself and my mother that I might meet someone great to go on more than a dozen dates with, but all I can do is remain hopeful and resist the urge to import an Asian husband. Or, as my father put it, as I'm thirtysomething and single, would that be an Asian wife???!!!

If It's Not One Thing, It's My Mother

I was 26 years old when I broke up with a boyfriend that I had been seeing for 7 years. My mother was devastated. I clearly remember her sage advice at the time: "You know, Carrie Blogshaw, that it gets harder to meet people as you get older". She was right.
My mother, June Cleaver Blogshaw, is very concerned regarding the state of my love life at this time. Many of her friends children (who I used to babysit, I'd like to add) have gotten married and are now HAVING children. I, the eldest, remain single... This causes her (as well as myself!) great concern. In a passive aggressive attempt to remind me that I should get married, she used to leave the thank you cards from the weddings she attended at my place at the table. Sometimes I didn't recognize or had not even met the people in the pictures staring back at me. I moved out.
Two years ago, she attempted to set me up with one of her friends sons. I had some questions:
"Is he cute?"
"No"
"Is he tall?"
"No, he's short"
"Does he have dark hair?"
"He's bald"
We later found out that he has a terrible drinking problem and gets so drunk that he sometimes can't make it to the washroom and ends up urinating in house plants in the living room. I was shocked. My mom didn't seem so shocked and was quick to remind me that it wouldn't be much of a problem, as I have laminate floors......