"I did that out of his earshot, so it doesn't count. Besides, I meant it ironically."

"Ironically?"

"Yes. It was a wry commentary on the fact that he's way too young for me."

"You go crazy when the weather gets hot."

"Yes. But I wasn't flirting with the waiter. And that's final."

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"I was not flirting," I reply. "That kid was young enough to be . . . my younger brother."

"You don't have a younger brother."

"So you admit that he was fair game?"

"Do you admit that you were flirting?"

"With a 30-year-old? No. But you're welcome to make a citizen's arrest."

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. . . with my ex-girlfriend. The one who married my former boyfriend. (No, no: not the boyfriend who cheated on her with me—the one who saw her on the side [with my full knowledge and consent] while he was living with me.)

I swear I don't understand why you guys can't keep this all straight. It's easy as pie.

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I walk him to his car. We are talking about my favorite subject.

"What are the chances," he asks, "that you're a selfish asshole?"

"They're quite good," I tell him. "But I make up for my selfishness by being really, really greedy."

He laughs. "Very nice." And he kisses me goodbye, gets into his Infiniti, and drives off.

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My mother's on the warpath again. Would it be unethical for me to sneak her an extra Prozac? Or is there any point: she appears pretty determined to have a fight with me tomorrow.

Oh, well. It's like my middle-aged acne—it'll keep me young.

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1 Put on a Stepford wife smile and refuse to lose not matter what she says. It should drive her crazy.

Posted by: Sean Hackbarth at July 24, 2006 11:14 PM (RiZPJ)

2 Another way to win without trying is to agree with everything she says, then do none of it. Just keep smiling and saying "you're right" and continue doing what you've been doing all along. Eventually she'll figure out she's talking to herself, and might shut up.

Posted by: clyde at July 25, 2006 01:47 AM (6m+7s)

3 I see you people have normal mothers. I don't want to aggravate mine, for she could get homicidal, and I don't want to have to shoot my own mom in self-defense. So no passive-aggressive tactics for me. Fortunately, she saw that she was headed for the swamps, and reined herself back in. So there's growth . . .

Posted by: Attila Girl at July 25, 2006 06:51 PM (4IuF2)

4 The tactic that works - though is in your face confrontational - is to just not see them. Don't answer the phone, don't visit, don't have them over. Let them know it is because "You are invited to STOP trying to run my life." Note to mothers everywhere - when your kids are 28, you really do have to stop treating them like they are 12.

Posted by: Zendo Deb at July 26, 2006 04:15 AM (+gqOq)

5 I've done that one, too

Posted by: Attila Girl at July 26, 2006 08:13 AM (4IuF2)

6 Hmm. I have a "normal mother?" Then what explains me?

Posted by: Sean Hackbarth at July 26, 2006 10:40 PM (RiZPJ)

7 How about "the sins of the fathers"? Or perhaps you're a sport (not baseball--genetics).

Posted by: Attila Girl at July 27, 2006 09:37 AM (4IuF2)

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She's smart.

People don't know how to love
They taste it and toss it
Turn it off and on
Like a bathtub faucet
Oh sometimes the light
Can be so hard to find--
At least the moon at the window--
The thieves left that behind.

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one must make the assumptions that:

1) the date selected many weeks ahead of time will fall during a heat wave, and

2) one will get one's period on the day the party begins, incurring cramps and the necessity for steady doses of codeine.

Therefore, it behooves one to clean the house on the weekend previous to that of the potluck itself. Hey—at least I remembered the appetizers this time.

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I checked the thermometer in the breezeway area of the garage. It had finally dipped below 100 degrees.

And still, we're too stubborn to turn on the AC.

Tomorrow, though, it'll be different: we're having people over at night, and I'll be straightening up during the day. So when I get up I'm turning on the air.

This is a big deal for Methodists: we tend to convince ourselves that unnecessary expenditures will send us to hell. Where, I've been told, the AC is spotty at best.

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don't just sit around with a pillow on your lap and a hot powerbook on top of the pillow.

It won't help at all, you know.

This has been a public service announcement.

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I'm working with two different crit groups. My regular writing teacher is turning into a Nazi (she must think I need it) and my new "novel teacher" is a Nazi from the get-go. I will either achieve Great Things, or end up as a lampshade.

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Please.

Nevermind.

Please.

You know how it is: one is always bargaining with life. Especially those who were born without the gift of contentment.

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I'll be in bed with a juicy George Friedman book on precision-guided munitions.

Ta-ta.

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. . . for my birthday. Unfortunately, they did it out in Milwaukee.

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