It’s So My Mom.

We had just finished a blissful morning of living in sin when I logged onto gmail to find the boyfriend’s disturbing chat message, which always tends to be more emotive than the man himself.

This time it was a morose excerpt from John Mayer’s “Say”: “Fightin’ with the shadows in your head.”

What I said in my blog chat:

Me:  Oh no
Are you sad?
Sent at 7:40 AM on Thursday

What I wanted to say:

Oh God, oh no … you’re sad. Is it me? Do you feel smothered? Want me to move out? You’re in love with your lesbian girlfriend, aren’t you? You only typed a freakin’ novel to her the other night … you never type that fast to me!

I’m not sure where I got the incessant need to double-check my loved ones’ nuances. I’m pretty sure it’s a mutation of my mother’s obsessive compulsiveness, which is manifested these days in things like lording over people who bring laptops to the wood kitchen table, making sure they have two placemats under them.

How long will I go blaming my personal faults on my mother?

Um, as long as it’s useful?

In the end, my boyfriend finally responded.

John:  No im not sad
Me:  ‘Cause your chat message
from “Say” …
John:  I like that verse is all
Me:  Oh. it’s dark.

Men are so simple—probably because they have fathers to emulate.