At dinner the other evening, Number One Son tells me he has come up with a list of ways to breakup with your girlfriend. As I tried to recover from the shock that perhaps some little cougar was trying to steal my son's affections, I stammer out, "What? Do you have a girlfriend? Why didn't I know this? Who is she? Why do you have a girlfriend? You aren't old enough to have a girlfriend! NO DATING! EVER! DO YOU HEAR ME?" Perhaps my machine-gun-fire rapid response was a tad bit of an over-reaction, but in my defense, I was there to eat enchiladas, not deal with the psychologically traumatic situation of a son who no longer thinks girls have cooties. Number One Son scrunched up his nose and said, "Me? Girlfriend? Ewwww, no way! Girls have cooties." (Oh, thank goodness!! I could now enjoy the remainder of my meal.) He then rolled his eyes and said, "No, my friend has a girlfriend, and he asked me how he should break up with her."
The always random, occasionally complex, often confounded commentary and narrative of one West Texas woman's life.