In life, certain events come along so rarely, that when they do, special attention must be paid. Events like Hayley's Comet, perfect birthday dinners, or in my case...getting a wife.
Back when my mother was bedridden with a broken ankle, and the unwanted free dinners were abundant, one meal came from a fellow co-worker of my mother, a kindergarten teacher named Mrs. Janice Marantino. Mrs. Marantino was a self-described, "classy Italian broad" who looked, talked, and acted just like Rosie O'Donnell. She brought us a classic Italian meal of spaghetti and meatballs to our house, and honestly, it was one of the best homemade dinners I ever had. I later found out, it was her daughter, Jennifer, that made the delicious meal, and of course, my mother took this as a sign of possible infatuation.
MOTHER: David. Dont you wanna have kids?
ME: Uh, yeah, but not right now.
MOTHER: Well, you do wanna get married, don’t you?
ME: Mother…I’m only 20 years old and in case you forgot, this isnt Kentucky.
MOTHER: And how many dates have you been on recently?
ME: Let's see...there was that one girl, who turned out to be gay and that one gay guy, who turned out to be psycho. Why do you care?
MOTHER: David, Jennifer is a nice sweet girl. She used to live in New York and you like New York.
ME: But...
MOTHER: She doesnt drive, so you can take her to school with you everyday.
ME: Mom, will you...
MOTHER: And she's a really great cook! Plus, I think you would really like Mrs. Marantino as your mother-in-law.
It was scary seeing my mom so set on marrying me off. And it was even more scarier when I learned that she and Mrs. Marantino had been planning a dinner for both me and Jennifer, behind my back. Everything was set...the food (Italian, of course)...the music (classic Henry Mancini)...everything. All except for one factor: me. I wasnt exactly keen on the idea of having such a pressured dinner, and so when my day of despised doom arrived last Friday, I ditched. I had already told my mother that I would not be going through with the dinner, but my words fell on her deaf ears.
I had hoped that once the weekend had passed, so would my mother's wretched wedding wishes. They, of course, didnt. In fact, the more I detested to the dinner date, the more my mother was determined to make it happen. Come hell or high water, my mother was going to make me eat dinner with Jennifer. Which explained Mrs. Marantino and Jennifer's pressence at my house yesterday.
My friend Madelaine was having a birthday dinner at El Charro, in very downtown Tucson, while I was at home, running very late. I had just stepped out of the shower and into my white terry-cloth robe, when I saw them...my possible future wife and possible future mother-in-law, sitting on the living room couch. Despite our irreparable differences, my devious mother had invited the ambiguously Italian Duo and demanded that I cancel my dinner date plans. I, of course, politely declinded, and so, as retribution, my mother hid my car keys. I was trapped. It was the ultimate ultimatum. And so I did what any mature adult in my situation would do...I called my friend Maria and climbed out my bedroom window.
A half hour later, Maria and I made our grand entrance in the outside courtyard of the Mexican restaurant. I'll admit, it was a bit selfish having all eyes upon Maria and me, instead of the birthday girl, but when you're wearing jeans that conceal from the world everything which is flawed and evil and show only that which is true and plump, could ya blame us?
The food was fantastic and as far as birthday dinners go, it was totally top-notch. At one point, the dinner even became heart-warming as Madelaine stood up and made a speech, telling every individual party guest why he or she was special. Unfortunately, Maria couldnt stick around to find out why she was special, as her special someone, Ray, called her for last-minute chemistry notes. As I walked Maria to her car, the hostess stopped me and handed me a note. It was from Paul, my crazed gay stalker.
Back when my mother was bedridden with a broken ankle, and the unwanted free dinners were abundant, one meal came from a fellow co-worker of my mother, a kindergarten teacher named Mrs. Janice Marantino. Mrs. Marantino was a self-described, "classy Italian broad" who looked, talked, and acted just like Rosie O'Donnell. She brought us a classic Italian meal of spaghetti and meatballs to our house, and honestly, it was one of the best homemade dinners I ever had. I later found out, it was her daughter, Jennifer, that made the delicious meal, and of course, my mother took this as a sign of possible infatuation.
MOTHER: David. Dont you wanna have kids?
ME: Uh, yeah, but not right now.
MOTHER: Well, you do wanna get married, don’t you?
ME: Mother…I’m only 20 years old and in case you forgot, this isnt Kentucky.
MOTHER: And how many dates have you been on recently?
ME: Let's see...there was that one girl, who turned out to be gay and that one gay guy, who turned out to be psycho. Why do you care?
MOTHER: David, Jennifer is a nice sweet girl. She used to live in New York and you like New York.
ME: But...
MOTHER: She doesnt drive, so you can take her to school with you everyday.
ME: Mom, will you...
MOTHER: And she's a really great cook! Plus, I think you would really like Mrs. Marantino as your mother-in-law.
It was scary seeing my mom so set on marrying me off. And it was even more scarier when I learned that she and Mrs. Marantino had been planning a dinner for both me and Jennifer, behind my back. Everything was set...the food (Italian, of course)...the music (classic Henry Mancini)...everything. All except for one factor: me. I wasnt exactly keen on the idea of having such a pressured dinner, and so when my day of despised doom arrived last Friday, I ditched. I had already told my mother that I would not be going through with the dinner, but my words fell on her deaf ears.
I had hoped that once the weekend had passed, so would my mother's wretched wedding wishes. They, of course, didnt. In fact, the more I detested to the dinner date, the more my mother was determined to make it happen. Come hell or high water, my mother was going to make me eat dinner with Jennifer. Which explained Mrs. Marantino and Jennifer's pressence at my house yesterday.
My friend Madelaine was having a birthday dinner at El Charro, in very downtown Tucson, while I was at home, running very late. I had just stepped out of the shower and into my white terry-cloth robe, when I saw them...my possible future wife and possible future mother-in-law, sitting on the living room couch. Despite our irreparable differences, my devious mother had invited the ambiguously Italian Duo and demanded that I cancel my dinner date plans. I, of course, politely declinded, and so, as retribution, my mother hid my car keys. I was trapped. It was the ultimate ultimatum. And so I did what any mature adult in my situation would do...I called my friend Maria and climbed out my bedroom window.
A half hour later, Maria and I made our grand entrance in the outside courtyard of the Mexican restaurant. I'll admit, it was a bit selfish having all eyes upon Maria and me, instead of the birthday girl, but when you're wearing jeans that conceal from the world everything which is flawed and evil and show only that which is true and plump, could ya blame us?
The food was fantastic and as far as birthday dinners go, it was totally top-notch. At one point, the dinner even became heart-warming as Madelaine stood up and made a speech, telling every individual party guest why he or she was special. Unfortunately, Maria couldnt stick around to find out why she was special, as her special someone, Ray, called her for last-minute chemistry notes. As I walked Maria to her car, the hostess stopped me and handed me a note. It was from Paul, my crazed gay stalker.
David - 8:15 - Paul will be waiting in the parking lot for you.
How did Paul know I was here? And how long had he been watching me and my friends eat dinner? Just the thought of his pressence outside in the parking lot, waiting for me, made me sick. Or maybe it was that carne seca I ordered? Well, whatever it was, it made me feel trapped inside the restaurant. I didnt wanna leave. I couldnt. Didnt Paul know that his unanswered phone calls was a sign that I did not wanna talk to him? Or was his phone set on silent, therefore, making my plea fall on deaf ears?
And so I wonder...when you're trapped in a proverbial cage of fear and ignorance, and are tired of running away from your problems...how do you make your deaf captors listen?
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