The Worst Has Come To Pass

One of my sons has a girlfriend. I don’t think I’m allowed to say which one, but he’ll be easily identifiable by the giant scarlet letter I plan on forcing him to wear.

I just found out the other day. Facebook was kind enough to inform me. A little tip for parents of younger kids…if your kids get Facebook, force them to add you to their friends list. It’s been a veritable font of information for me. Once a few years back, one of my sons was planning on going to an all day party at the beach B.Y.O.B.. There was a group on Facebook giddily giving out all the details about the B.Y.O.B.. My response? O.M.D.B. (over my dead body. Yeah, he didn’t think it was clever either.). I caught my son lol’ing at a mildly homophobic comment on Facebook and let him have it via his inbox. If it’s in his inbox, he’ll read it apparently. Even when it’s from me.

And now…a recent status update letting me know that my Man Cub is being lured out of the jungle to live in the village by one of those girls who can carry a jug of water on her head. How dare he? I’m not even going to delve into the fact that he has been able to use the ‘in a relationship’ option before his own mother. I’ll brood over that one later. With wine and left over Miss Vickie’s chips. Sea salt and malt vinegar should do the trick.

That isn’t what this is about. It’s about…loyalty. I thought he and I were close. I make him all his favourite foods. I watch College Humour skits on Youtube with him and pretend to laugh even though it’s only mildly funny. I buy him cool shirts. What the hell? What does he need HER for?
Oh God…I can’t breathe. She’s going to poison him against me, isn’t she? It’s like that old saying that haunts me every day of my life. ‘A son is a son ‘til he takes a wife, a daughter is a daughter the rest of her life.’ Well that’s bullshit, I tell ya. BULLSHIT! I’m the one that buys him the really good, hypo-allergenic anti-acne cream with a faint hint of green tea. I could have just gotten him the cheap stuff. Maybe I should have gotten him the cheap stuff. Curse me for making him so appealing to the opposite sex.

Suddenly those ‘how to treat girls’ lessons seem ill-advised. What was I thinking? I taught him to hold doors open for girls, to offer to pay for dinner and offer his coat if she’s cold and really listen to her when she talks about her day. It’s like giving plutonium to the Unibomber. What an idiot.

Well, enough of that. I’m about to employ one of the oldest, best gifts my Irish Catholic mother ever passed on to me (besides this new bra she got me…it makes my cleavage look awesome!). Guilt. Good old-fashioned ‘You’re going out again? Oh…I’ll just lie on the couch and let old age kick in.’ guilt. It always worked like a charm on me. It still works like a charm on me.

Oddly, I don’t remember it ever working on my brothers…which could spell bad news for me. Sigh…I’ll keep you posted.