Again, I admit I’m a terrible person. It’s kind of my running theme. And I’m passing it on to the next generation. Thank me later.
So I was talking to The Destroyer about a girl he likes. Liked. Here’s the deal: I try to instill in my children that looks aren’t everything. I try to tell them that what makes a person special is on the inside. Stay with me here.
This is how the conversation went:
“Hey, whatever happened to ____?” (At this stage, I’m not trying to remember their names.)
He shrugs. “She’s not my type.”
“What does that mean?”
Another shrug. So, I think, she’s tore up.
“Destroyer, everything can’t be looks. I mean, is she smart? Funny? Interesting?”
“She’s smart. I just don’t like her, mom. Leave it alone.” I wasn’t about to leave it alone. Me? Nerd extraordinaire? Raise a shallow kid? Not gonna happen. If he can’t see inner beauty, then he’s the same as all those shallow jerks that I went to school with. You know, the ones who couldn’t see my inner beauty.
“Listen, there’s a such thing as inner beauty. I mean—wait. Is that her?”
“Oh. Oh, my. WOOF. Jaysus. My goodness, Destroyer. Did—did you know what she looked like?”
“I was trying to tell you.”
“Okay. Duck. I’ll peel outta here before she knows you’re here.”
Don’t get mad, you guys. I really do want my son to be with a woman of substance. I just don’t want her to be tore-up ugly. And I don’t mean like a big nose or overweight or a limp. I mean looking like a Garbage Pail Kid.
And I know there are parents out there who wouldn’t want their son- or daughter-in-law to be fat like me. I’ve decided not to be mad about that. (Especially since I know that my mother-in-law wanted her son to marry a pretty, petite, blonde. Which is the polar opposite of me and I decided not to be mad about that. Especially since I make the Big Man very happy. Also, I’m sexy-fat. So there’s that.)
The thing is, men get to be shallow about ALL KINDS OF THINGS. Like if a woman has hammer toes. So, I feel like I get to be shallow about some things. And this is one of them. I get to think that my smart, beautiful son is out of a particular girl’s league.
I happened to marry an attractive man. And I know that they’re my kids, but my kids are pretty darn good looking. And I would like to have good looking grandchildren.
I don’t worry about this too much with Wondergirl. She already has criteria in place for the man she wants to meet in 2026. (That’s the year she has projected, not me.) She actually said, “He has to be reasonably handsome. Not way fine, cause I’m not trying to fight over him. ” (This is a lie. She wants any excuse to fight.) “And rich,” she added. “He has to be rich.” Of course he does. How else would she fund her world-dictatorship campaign? (Omega Prime, I’m looking at you, kid.)
Look, I guess it boils down to this: If a dad can tell his son to date hot chicks, so can a mom. Also, I hope that she’s kinda dumb. That way, I can trick her into telling the truth about what her and my son have been up to.
Oh, and then, THEN, another girl had the nerve to tell the Destroyer that she didn’t want to talk to him because some kids said that his mother is crazy. WHAT?!? Only SOME kids think I’m crazy? Well, I must be losing my touch.