I’m a little annoyed with my mom’s attitude toward my relationship(s).

When I tell her I’m seeing someone [new], her first response is to be taken aback.

“Already?!” Then, “Who is he?”
“Well, he’s just this guy, you know?”
“Does he play frisbee?”
“Yes.” Self-professed creature of habit.
And the inevitable question: “Is he nice?”

—–

She never remembers the guy’s name, whoever he is. Even if I spell it for her, she still can’t pronounce it. She refers to him as “your… friend,” broadcasting disapproval and discomfort.

It’s unclear why she can’t just be happy for me. I don’t date a lot of people, much less a lot of assholes. It would be great if she were to quit making me feel like a poor judge of character, not to mention a slutty one.

—–

Her romantic advice to me consists of gently smiling admonitions like, “Be kind to him, ok?” “Be ladylike, be polite. Don’t talk so loudly.” “Smile a lot!” I was never told, growing up, that children should be seen and not heard, but maybe that sort of behavior’s reserved for young ladies these days.

Apparently I’m also to keep him at a distance, to avoid imposing whenever possible, to avoid close friendships with other boys–especially the far-away visit-able kind–because that is just not nice.

—–

Mom and Dad still think fondly of the first boyfriend they ever met. They’ve hinted that I really should have held onto him, and that they’re not sure I can do better. They’re pretty sure I’m ready to start having babies–even though if I were a good girl I wouldn’t know very much about sex and how dirty it can be–and you know I’m not so young anymore. But they really hope I’m happy, ok, and that I find someone nice.

Fucking nice.

*sigh*
“Well, it’s your life. I just hope you’re happy.”