The Birds and the Bees

Size Matters

It was three days after piss-gate when my mother called. I was grinning like an idiot at a text Adrian had just sent me saying "good morning" and featuring a gif of Richard Harris as Dumbledore for my daily dick pic, when the text was immediately covered over by my mother's name on caller ID.

"Hi mom," I said breezily as I accepted the call. "What's up?"

"Do not use that casual tone with me, you little flea," my mother began by scolding. "I have a very large boner to pick with you."

I nearly choked on my coffee. "Um, mom, I think you mean bone, not boner." I set my mug down and began quickly wiping up the sprayed coffee.

My mother ignored me. "What is this I hear about you having a boyfriend? And, worse, you have told your father before you told me. When we both know your father is objectively a complete oyster dick."

"A complete what?" I asked, laughing. Not that I was going to disagree with her, I just wanted to make sure I had heard her right.

"You heard me," she went on. "Now. You had an important piece of information to tell me about having a boyfriend, and you did not tell me about having a boyfriend. Why are you keeping secrets from me?"

"Mom, I'm not! I told you I had a date."

"Gene, that is chopping up hairs."

Once again, I gave up trying to correct her American vernacular and went straight into mom soothing mode. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It's actually a bit more complicated than it seems. You see, the fact of the matter is..."

"He's married. He's in the wardrobe and pretending to be straight. You're secretly gay and seeing him to cover it up. You know, Gene, I wouldn't care if you were a lesbian. I would love you anyway, no matter what!"

"Jesus Christ, Mom!" I cried. "No, no, it's none of those things! It's just that he and I..."

"Wait, I have it. You're not really dating anybody, you've just persuaded some poor man to pretend to be your boyfriend because you're tired of everyone thinking you're lonely and pathetic. Have I got it right now?"

The problem with Mom was that she knew me far too well. I was stunned into silence, but only for a few seconds. "Um, actually, yeah. That one. Only nobody thinks I'm lonely and pathetic. Just so happens I have a very important work function that I need to take someone to."

She sighed heavily. A mother's sigh. A disappointed sigh. "Mon chere, what are you doing? This is not normal behavior! Even when your father and mother are a pair of estranged rock stars from the 80s."

"I know, I know. But somehow it's wound up being the most functional relationship I think I've ever had. Please don't jinx it for me, Mom."

"This is all my fault," she continued to wail. "I did not model positive romantic choices for you when you were growing up and now you are dating a fake man."

"He's not a fake man mom!" I stood up from my chair so abruptly, I almost knocked my coffee mug over making an even bigger mess. "He's a real man."

"Is he even straight? I can't see a straight man going for something like this. Probably you're going to fall for him, and then it's going to turn out he's engaged to this princess from some obscure Eastern European country and you're going to try and steal him away from her and then she'll try to have you killed, and he'll end up having cancer or tuberculosis and try to make you think he doesn't love you when he really does and..."

"Mom, isn't that Moulin Rouge?"

"It could happen!" Mom cried defensively. "I'm not saying there will be singing. But I'm worried this fake guy will break your heart."