My widowed mom is a gorgeous Scandinavian in her 60s. She just told the family that she met a dude online and is already planning a future with him but they haven’t even met! Should I tell her the things I’m worried about, or just shut my cakehole and let her be happy?
—I Love My Moder
Not that 60s is old, but it’s part of a generation that’s been battered, seasoned and fried in life — more than many of us.
Baby Boomers are closer to the end than the beginning, so they don’t waste time on fancy dinners that eventually lead to a sixth-date cobweb-clearing bang. They’re ready to put on the business panties and hop in the top brand’s equity. Here’s a typical salt ‘n’ pepper date:
Him: I’m republican, but hate Trump. I have four grown kids. I’m an investment banker. I keep a tidy house. I drink three scotch-rocks a night. I go to bed at 9 p.m. I would prefer having sex at least three times a week.
Her: I’m voting for Hillary, but am republican. I have one grown child who lives in my basement. I’m a clean freak. I drink a magnum of wine each night. I also go to bed at 9 p.m. and will rail you seven nights a week if your junk is up to it.
They have sex 30 minutes later and get married next week in Mexico.
Millennials, on the other hand, have wrinkles to grow, flavors to taste, experiments to venture. Here’s a typical millennial date:
Him: I’m waxing poetic for hours on the state of socialism and other brilliant topics. I hope she doesn’t notice that I’m clenching my butt cheeks, as I’m near to blowing out lunch’s fried kale chips and seaweed salad.
Her: I’m rolling my inner eyes while sipping on (insert latest craft pop-up) IPA. Why does he look like he has a Barbie lodged inside him? I’ll just daydream of getting porked by the hot bartender and repeat my mantra: I am woman, hear me craft beer.
They have sex four shots later, but never speak again.
So as a grown daughter, Mother Lover, your opinion is important. Tell “Moder” your thoughts, but be aware of her need for a baby booming boom-boom room. Tell mom to meet him over dinner first then hop on the Viagra train. You’re just a concerned daughter and she’s just a horny mother.
What does “it’s me, not you” actually mean?
Since Costanza invented the “it’s not you, it’s me” routine, let’s ask him. “Nobody tells me it’s them not me, if it’s anybody it’s me,” Seinfeld’s favorite baldy says in episode 70.
Costanza aside, “it’s me, not you,” means the person is attempting an easy-out break up. It really is you, but they don’t have the balls to tell you that: your junk is unsatisfactory; you’re a dickhead; take your mouth off mama’s bank teat; you suck at flip cup; you drink like a teenager; your apartment blows; she’s banging someone else; etc.
Condolences, dude, you’re getting dumped because she’s unsatisfied. Time to find another lover.