The Over-Educated Nympho

Over Christmas I was enjoying some lovely (?!) baking time with my mother when she turned and smiled at me: “So how does it feel being all grown up now?”

I looked at her in bewilderment, my fingers hovering with cookie dough in mid-air.

“You have a career, you have your own apartment, you’re taking care of yourself…”

So? Since when does that make me an adult? I smacked the dough down onto the tray, trying to figure out what to say—since I’m sure my mother didn’t understand what the THWAP! of the cookie dough meant in regard to my emotional well-being.

“Mom. It doesn’t matter that I have a job and an apartment. I still feel like some stupid little kid playing dress-up.”

My mother looked surprised at my answer. I filled my mouth with cookie dough and she took the hint I didn’t want to discuss it further.

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Hopefully the weekend’s posts below got all the brooding out of my system. So as not to be a complete downer, here’s a link to one of my all-time favorite (funny) posts, The Kegel Facts.

Looking back at the break-up six months ago, that entire period is a hidden in a fog in my memory. It’s like the two weeks before and after have turned from color to shades of grey and have lost all the sharpness, leaving just a few bright but insigificant images.

I can’t remember much about the whole week leading up to the break-up, other than going out nearly every night with Blondie and Sweetie Pie to avoid going home. I remember lots of tapas and lots of sangria–but never being drunk. I didn’t need to get drunk, I was already drifting in and out of my own head.

I can’t remember what I said to him the last morning I saw him. I can’t remember what he was wearing, or if I had gotten out of bed yet, or if he kissed me before he left for work, or if I had the decency to tear up after he walked out the door.

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