So I’m up in Cape Cod with my dad, step-mom and godparents, which
basically means that I am the most adult-like person around for miles…in my personal opinion. However, when I asked my dad about what he thought of my maturity level, he said, “well, you’re younger than you are.” In other words, my suspicions that I am reverting to age 16 have been confirmed. Fortunately, family vacation is a great time to regress, because everyone is acting a little on the youthful side. AKA: there are fewer rules.
So a few nights ago after a nice family dinner supplemented with some very nice vodka distilled in Maine, I was getting text messages from a random somebody I had hung out with only
once in New York, and my step-mother asked who it was. As everyone knows, things that are distilled lead to funny conversations. I explained the
situation but concluded, eye-rolling, “It’s 10 o’clock at night. This
is a just a booty call.”
Step-Mom: Hmm..Booty call! I like that!
Me: Uh, you do?
SM: Yeah..Booty call! That sounds great. Really nice.
Me: It does?
SM: I like the sound of it! Booty call. Booty call.
Me: Uh, yeah. I guess…except…a booty call is basically just when
someone calls you at midnight trying to have sex with you.
SM: Oh! Oh. Well. I guess I don’t like that then.
Me: Yeah. It’s not really..you know…
SM: Oh! I get it! Booty. Like a pirate’s booty! Like it’s a prize!
[contemplates] That’s still kind of sweet. I still like the way it
Me: Yeah…actually I think “booty” is referring to your butt. They’re
calling your butt.
SM: Oh. Haha. Oh well.
SM: Still! A booty call is better than no call at all!
Now, to be fair, since I have made much ado about the myriad glories
of my two families, I should probably mention what my Mom-Mom has to
say on the subject. We’ve had plenty of time to talk, because last
week, after she broke her foot, I went to keep her company at her
office during a three hour break between clients. I tore into the room
at a run, shrieking, “Doctor! Doctor! I have a problem. Please help
me!” and flung myself on the leather couch.
Now, 2 and a half hours is a lot of time to spend in one therapy
session with your mom, especially when you ignore everything other
than funny sound bites you can potentially use on your blog. And this
is what I got.
Me: Unless you get married at 22, it’s hard to be in your 20s in New York.
Mom-Mom: Well, you had the HPV shots. Do you whatever you want.
Now, you have to understand that this is coming from the woman who
told me when I was 13 never to let a boy buy you dinner or a drink,
because he will later think he is entitled to rape you, and that if he
tries to go to second base with you, it is your god-given right to
punch him in the face.
But two days later, my mom called to thank me for hanging out.
MM: My favorite part of the week was when you came to visit!
Me: My favorite part of the week was when you said, “you’ve had the
HPV shots, do you what you want.
MM: Haha! Are you going to put it on your blog?
Me: Well, I did think it was funny, but I really don’t want people to think…
MM: Oh! You don’t want people to know you talk about that kind of
stuff with your mom.
Me: No! Mom…God. I don’t want people to think that I have a mom who
is telling me to just do “whatever I want.” People will form..you
know… an incorrect impression of me as a person.
MM: Oh! Haha. Right.
Now keep in mind that this all begins with my dad suggesting to me that it may time to grow up, which puts me in a bit of a Catch-22. After all, the only way to become a real adult is to rebel…