Lately, I feel as if I’m channeling Ward Cleaver. I get home after a stressful day at work, sit down at the kitchen counter, pour myself a glass of wine, read the paper and ignore the familial chaos surrounding me.
But every now and then, one of these moments.
Beloved Bride: “Honey, did you know that our son has a girl he likes?” “Her name is Lindsay”.
Me, lowering my newspaper: “‘Son, look at you there blushing. What is she like?”
Beloved Bride: “She’s got a beautiful smile, a real pretty young lady”.
Son in an agitated voice:”How do you know what she looks like?!
Beloved Bride: “I saw her photograph on your Facebook page.”
Son: “What? You’ve been stalking?! That does it. I’m de-friending you”
Beloved Bride, in an admonishing voice: “Don’t you dare!”
Son, tapping furiously on his iPad: “Too late. It’s done. We are no longer Facebook friends.”
Beloved Bride: “Young man, you make me your friend again right now or else!”
Son: “Or else what? I’m too big for you to do anything to me.”
Beloved Bride stammering: “I’ll, I’ll, I’ll….de-chef you!”
Son: “What? What the heck does that mean?”
Beloved Bride: “That’s it! If you don’t friend me, I will no longer cook for you.”
Son, in a plaintive voice: “Wait you can’t do that! You have to feed me. You’re my mother.”