Break ups suck. Informing my mother of breakups sucks more.
My mother and I have always had an interesting relationship, peppered with our fair share of arguments, differences, and (much to my dismay in some cases) similarities. It has, however, improved, especially after I got my degree and moved back in with my parents. Unfortunately, one thing that has NOT changed is her poorly timed jokes, and apparent disregard for my feelings. This has lead to me almost NEVER telling her, or my father, about my relationships until I had no other choice.
I decided to just spit it out one morning:
“Mom,#him and I broke up.”
The exasperated sigh that followed had to have drawn breath from our ancestors to achieve.
“Well, what happened?”
Of course, I couldn’t tell her exactly what my issues were, because they would have lead down subjects that I am POSITIVE she didn’t want to discuss with me until I was married. So I attributed our issues solely to distance, and she seemed to accept it. I was relieved.
I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.
Ever since, there have been little mentions of #him at random, as if breaking up has made her more fond of #him and they never even MET. One night (during what was known at #SnowedInAtlanta) she asked:
“Well, you just don’t care about #him anymore, you haven’t even called to check on him.” I gave her the grandest of side-eyes and said “Well, seeing as I am the one who lives in Atlanta, and #he lives in Tallahassee, don’t you think its #him who should be calling me? You have #his number, you call.”
I think she got the point
She hasn’t asked about #him since. God, I hope that sticks.
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