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| gotham comedy club, driving drunk, pissed off, rape videos, alba, mom fucking son., internet anger, drunk party girl, naming, writing, drunk chick, drunk teen, magazine, woomera detention centre, perfect name, easydrunk girl, laughter, plays, de sade, incest, gigglechick, drunk boob, mad at, | This was marketing all much more relevant than my ties -- illegitimate at that -- to the last kaiser of Germany. For me, the books piled next to one's bed, the marketing articles cut from the paper, speak legions; where or if one worships says relatively little. But my world spins on a different axis than hers. So I shifted my attention to a more superficial, yet still winning, marketing list of traits for which I might gain her approval: a balanced checkbook, respectable culinary skills, post-collegiate degrees and child-bearing hips all ranked high. Besides, I argued, it wasn't as though Andrew had been dating a long line of nice Jewish girls and then I'd come along to sully matters. His mother seemed oblivious to the fact that many of her Deadhead, old-time-musician son's recent dalliances had been saturated in patchouli oil, ensconced in beads and toting a mountain dulcimer on their way to a square dance. |
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| So stunned were we by her prediction that we needed to make the words our own. "Oy, you fucking Jew," I say to my husband now with a Woody Allen-delivery. Imbued with the silly sweetness of our prenuptial bliss, with our retreat from maternal fury, the phrase makes him giggle. I have, with great practice and, finally, habit, achieved just the right mom fucking son. breathiness to my oy, just the right exasperation, as though I've walked six miles to the butcher and Mrs. mom fucking son. Kline bought the last chicken. She said other things as well, all mom fucking son. cruel and absurd, all spewing forth from a deep shock that her only son -- a son who led the entire service of his Bar Mitzvah in near-perfect Hebrew -- was marrying a WASP. With the grace of hindsight, I realize that none of this was about me. At the time, however, I was deeply hurt that she didn't like me, that she was uninterested in getting to know me. I wanted her to like me for the qualities it seemed we shared: interests in feminist health, travel and good books. |
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