No, You Can't Date My Mom - OZY | A Modern Media Company

No, You Can't Date My Mom

No, You Can't Date My Mom

By Eugene S. Robinson


Because sexually speaking? It’s pretty clear: you’re not alone. Well, maybe you are, but that’s where we come in!

By Eugene S. Robinson

The Mom Bomb

EUGENE, SIR: Four years after a divorce I’ve been encouraging my 59 year old Mom to get out and start dating again. Which I was totally cool with until two things: a friend of mine asking “so, what’s the deal with your Mom?” and my Mom saying ”Does Jerry have a girlfriend?” I know love is blind but this feels a little boundary pushing to me. Is it me though? Or them? — no name 

Dear Mums the Word: This is really just their way of saying “we’re going to do this”. Also known as “getting you ready” for what might be the wholly unsettling sight of you showing up unexpectedly to find your dude on the couch in his underwear and your Mom in the shower singing show tunes.

So consider yourself prepared/warned. Is their love match “cool”? What for you or them? For you? Probably not. Not for the celebratory reasons: two people having a great time. This should probably be celebrated no matter what and if it makes YOU uncomfortable, well, oh tough titty.  But it’s the downside reasons that are a total drag. Her complaining to you about him. Him complaining to you about her and him forgetting that she’s your Mom and not someone he just picked up in a bar. Which could be a total total total drag. 

But begrudging others even one minute of happiness against your possible future unhappiness seems pretty hard hearted to me. So, congratulate yourself that you have a hot Mom, a friend with poorly drawn boundaries and some free time on your hands as they sure as shit don’t want YOU hanging around anymore.

On the Good Foot

EUGENE, SIR: I got home early from work one day. I had to throw something in the garbage can around the side of the house and when I turned back around to the front door I looked inside and saw my fiance laying on the floor, by the couch, masturbating. Sitting on the couch was another man who was shoeless and drinking a drink with his naked feet on Jan’s face. He was stomping him in the face and watching TV. I texted Jan that I’d be home soon, sat in the car, and then made a bunch of noise coming in 10 minutes later. The guy very pleasantly said hello and left when I got there. Jan explained that he was a friend from the gym who had dropped off a gym bag that Jan had forgotten. I don’t want to get married without talking about this but have no idea how to talk about this. Help? — Shocked. Still.

Dear SS…: Here’s some early agreement: absolutely do not get married until you’ve got some sort of handle on what’s going on with Mr. Athlete’s Foot. His kink in and of itself could be pretty harmless. Harmless and sensibly kept secret since having a man stomp on your face while you masturbate is not most people’s Tuesdays. But the boundary issues concern me.

Doing this in the home that you own? You don’t say how early you were but methinks this doesn’t matter. His interest in same sex face-footage might bespeak of future rough sailing as well, if this finds itself ramping full force into other types of bicuriosity. 

None of which is a real problem if when you yank the covers off of it, thinks don’t go/get crazy(er). I mean he might be relieved to have his kink revealed. Or he might never recover. But this is much less about his wants and needs at this point and much more about yours. My suggestion is in the next quiet moment you have you inch into by way of saying, “you know I got home early the other day….”

Don’t try to get any trickier than that and like Hamlet said “if he but blench” then you’ll know your course. Which should be jumping in, walking around and bathing in the footy funk of his kink until whatever question mark you have is followed by an answer. He might be loathe to do this. And that’s just fine. Just like you might be loathe to marry a man hard put to be honest with himself, nevermind you. Good luck.

Consent Concerns

EUGENE, SIR: I’m 24. A girl I dated in college moved to New York and told me if ever I was in the city to look her up. I did. We went for drinks. She drank. I didn’t. She invited me back. We started to try to have sex and for whatever reason I couldn’t get it up. Whatever. We fell asleep. I woke up 30 minutes later with an erection. Grabbed her, we kissed, had sex. In the morning she left first. Kissed me goodbye and told me to lock the door when I left. About six months later I heard from a friend of mine that she was telling people that I had raped her. I called her up immediately and asked her “wtf?”. She said “well…it wasn’t very good.” This can’t be unsucked. — Howard 

Dear Indeed: It really can’t be. Sex is a dicey proposition full of people who are having it who shouldn’t be mixed up in a melange of cross motives, drives and long shots that things are going to work out in the end. And sometimes they don’t. Was it you? Don’t have enough info to know. Was it her? Well, we’re not hearing from her just you but if you’re a halfway reliable reporter, yes, it sucks. In 30 years it won’t but there are probably better things to have people understand you to be than a possible rapist. Sorry.

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