Yesterday was my birthday. Not just that, it was an odometer year-- the big four oh. My life is supposed to be over, right?
Last night I had dinner at Jardiniere with my mother, her boyfriend, her boyfriend's son, and the PLHB. It was an absolutely wonderful dinner in one of my favorite restaurants.
My mother having a boyfriend is a very new state of affairs for me-- the last time I knew her to date anyone was when I was about five years old. I've been giving her grief about him for most of the year, reminding her that I owed her for some embarrassing things she said at my wedding nearly twenty years ago, and that twenty years worth of interest was a lot. She embarrasses easily, one might say.
I had a great time turning her into a pile of giggles at the restaurant, with the BF's help. And then afterward, we went walking around the neighborhood and wound up in a bar. In the corner of the bar, there was a box of condoms.
My internal monologue hit overload for a few seconds. "You can't!" "But, but, it would be FUNNY!" "No, no, that's too much." "Just do it."
I grabbed a condom, walked over, and slipped it into her hand.