(Cue dream bubble here)
Random Gay: [shuffles in wearing striped-polo shirt and cargo shorts.] "Hi, my name is RG."
My Mother: [taking a long drag from her Winston Ultra-Light 100. Inhales, exhales while saying...] "Nice to meet you, I'm Nancy."
(note from jamesdamian: please, absolutely no "Nancy-Boy"
jokes. I'll cut you. Let's continue.)RG: [noticably nervous] "So, what is your son's name? What is he like?"
Mom: [taking another drag from her cigarette, exhales while saying...] "Are you butch? I don't want my son dating girly-boys, and in my opinion no one is butch enough for my little boy."
RG: [beginning to fret and feel awkward] "Umm, ok. I am pretty normal, I guess. I would say I am butch."
Mom: [another drag, exhales] "Butch my ass, look at you: legs crossed like a girl. You are probably president of the Britney Spears fan club with your badly dyed hair and your scrawny little waist."
RG: [thinking of ways to bow out gracefully] "Umm, ahhh...my dear girl, there are some things that just aren't done, such as drinking Dom Perignon '53 above the temperature of 38 degrees Fahrenheit. That's just as bad as listening to Britney Spears without earmuffs!"
Mom: [taking her GLOCK from her purse, cigarette still in mouth] "You keep talkin' like a bitch, and I'm gonna slap you like a bitch."
RG: "Are you gonna bark all day, little doggy, or are you gonna bite?"
Mom: "Oh, you're talking to me all wrong! It's the wrong tone. You do it again, I'll stab you in the face with a soldering iron. Does your mother sew? BOOM! Get her to sew that!"
(end dream bubble here)
Disclaimer: My mother is nothing like this. Since I have moved to New York, she has taken a great interest in my "love life." Her words, not mine. She would never talk to someone like this and she does not own a GLOCK.