So, get this—I’m on GoodReads to rate the book I just finished reading. (If you’re curious, it was “The Diary of Anne Frank” and I DNF it. One star.) So I go and check out what my son Brian is reading and I find out he’s reading a book called “Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents”. Um, excuse me? I was going to comment on it and say, “Is there something you want to say to me?” But then I remembered that my profile is a fake one because I don’t want him to know his mother is keeping tabs. And no, it’s not spying! I’m his mother. And I wouldn’t need to resort to a fake profile if he wasn’t so secretive!
When he was younger, we used to talk about anything! He’d tell me how he was scared about asking some girl to the prom and I’d tell him how his father could never bring me to orgasm. I remember him turning pale at the thought of his poor mother, lying in bed, weeping with miserable dissatisfaction.
Speaking of which, he’s probably reading that book because of Gerald. Talk about being emotionally immature! The man wants hugs all the time! He’s 55! You know who else wants hugs? Toddlers! He not only has the emotional maturity of a 5-year-old, he also has the penis of one. I wish I was joking.
I’d say that I’m maybe too emotionally mature. I’m sure Brian would agree. After all, he’s the one who told me that I needed to get in touch with my “inner child”. Um, sorry, Brian, but I aborted my inner child once I had you. Sounds dramatic, but it’s true! Maybe I should write that on his birthday card next year.
Oh, now I see he’s put up another book that he’s reading. “How to Set Boundaries”. Not surprising. It might as well be called: “How to Get Your Father to Stop Being Such A Needy Little Bitch”.
Now that I think of it, these books are probably a cry for help. My poor little guy! I should call him. No, no. I don’t want him to think I’m clingy like his baby of a father. I’ll let him come to me. He always does, eventually.