Go On, Go On, Leave Me Breathless

I am in a panic. What could she possibly want me to tell her??

How any child of hers could have grown into such an unrelenting stubborn beyotch?

Have I gone to confession yet to wail to Father Whomever about my sins and crimes and beg forgiveness and mercy from the fire and brimstone of Hell?

Have I suffered any unusual and unexplained crippling stabbing pains in any of my extremities that might be attributed to another person's use of a voodoo doll?

How I could possibly be managing the rigors of my topsy-turvy life without the constant love and support and advice of a parent who lives 5 states away?

I take deep breaths. She must have anticipated this call. She's been out of the loop for a while and has clearly kept a file for topics to discuss.

What she wants to know is...have I met anyone?

Wow! Kudos to Charlotte for having kept her mouth shut all this time. That is quite a feat of confidentiality. Holy cow.

Without giving me a chance to answer (natch!) Mom goes on to say how she knew how much I'd loved J. (and I am pleased to hear her use the past tense) and how heart broken I'd been to learn what a creep he turned out to be (glad you're on board with that, Estelle) and how sorry she was that I'd had to find out so late in the game (Me too, Mom. Me too.)

But she's been praying every night and every day (this I have to see) that I'd find someone wonderful to share my life with, and hopes every day that maybe some doctor at work will catch my eye, and (of course) that I would catch his (she has no lingering doubts about that) and that we'll all live happily ever after, because part B of the hope and dream scenario is that he will not have any crazy former wives, no pain in the ass children to distract from my own, that the nutty parents would be deceased or at least in a foreign country and of no consequence, or at least if they aren't both dead, at least the mother would be....and so on and so on, burning up the minutes of her pre-paid phone card with her hopes and aspirations for my love life.

When she at last pauses (her attention momentarily distracted by a bird or a frog or a flower that needs dead-heading), I chime in.

"Well actually, Mom, I have met someone."