Last April, Clay and I had a lengthy discussion about a thing he was trying to grow on his face. Some might call it a beard. Some might say he fell asleep in his cheerios. And others might even say he had a mishap with some wood chips and a hot glue gun. Either way, I thought I had made it clear during our little chat that I didn’t approve of such defilement. The ‘beard’ was gone for awhile, but it has now returned in horrendous proportions. I called this morning to express my disdain.

As soon as he picked up the phone, before he had a chance to say hello, I gave him a piece of my mind.

“Clayton Holmes Aiken! You either get rid of that beard or I will, so help me God!”

“Mom?”

Ew. He had confused me with his mother. How will we ever consummate our love if he is going to mistake me for his mother?

“Clayton Holmes!"

“Grandma?”

“No! It’s your future wife!”

“Oh. You.”

“There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“I didn’t go into that adult section! I just walked past! I swear to God!”

“What?”

“… Nevermind.”

“I know you like experimenting with your newfound manliness, but the beard has got to go.”

“I lost my razor.”

“Buy a new one.”

“Last time I went to buy a razor, I was chased down the street.”

“I’m sorry! You know I can’t resist you in green.”

“I almost got hit by a car!”

“Oh, he would’ve stopped. You didn’t need to hide behind a tree and cry.”

“And you didn’t have to take your shirt off to get the driver’s attention.”

“This is not about me and my gifts. This is about you and your facial hair.”

“If I want facial hair, then I can have facial hair!” He screeched.

“I’m a fan and what I say goes!”

He scoffed.

“Since we’re on the topic of what I say goes, I’ve taken the liberty of planning out our wedding reception in great detail.”

I went on to describe the two separate tables of food. Mine will include mushroom casseroles, tiny mints, and coffee. Possibly even some chocolate wedding bells. His table will have lima bean pie, pulled pork(whatever that is), and sparkling water. He will cut our 14-layer wedding cake in a powder blue tux while ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ plays in the background.

“I think a plate of turkey bacon should be passed around at frequent intervals.” I added.

“Turkey bacon and cake?”

“Sure.”

“Have you ever tried seeking psychiatric help? It would do you wonders.”

“Why does everybody say that?!”

I became irate and hung up. Home | Entries | Previous | Next