This evening I went out to dinner with my mother, who told me, “Amanda, when you’re on a date, remember not to blow on your food to cool it down. It’s rude.”
“What?” I stared at her, dumbfounded. “What if it’s hot?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s rude,” she said again.
“Well,” I said. “If they have a problem with the fact that my food is too hot, I don’t think I want to date them anyway.”
My mother laughed and shook her head, probably praying at that moment that her daughter would come to her senses.
I know sometimes that when you’re 13, you make up lists of the attributes of your husband in the future. I did not do that. And have yet to do that. I have standards, but I don’t care if you blow on your food.
And then it made me think of how my new apartment is still in disarray, and how I need to get it into some sort of order before Comcast comes tomorrow to set up my internet. And I thought of how I put so much mental effort into the cable guy, which made me laugh because… you know … porn. (For the record, I did not share any of this with my mom.)
And then I thought of how my life in general is one big messy scene (metaphor!) and I’m doing my best to sweep it up and get it together. I must stop sabotaging my life. I think I’m actually getting there, one messy day at a time.