In my early twenties, I was dating a comic who was a few years older and still lived at home with his family.
For a road comic that’s not unusual since you’re gone all the time. Seems silly to pay for an apartment where you’ll rarely ever sleep, even if you can actually afford the rent.
My things were at my mom’s place in Texas. I’d stay there when not traveling around the country in my Canary Yellow Pinto, telling jokes from behind chicken wire for gas money.
Now why, you may ask, would there be chicken wire?
So that we wouldn’t get hit with beer bottles.
And why would I do a show where someone might throw a bottle?
Because it paid fifty dollars.
It was nice being at my mom’s because we could hang out and I was able to live and eat for free. It was quite an advantageous arrangement for us both, regardless of what she might have to say on the subject.
Although I love my mother dearly, alas, I wasn’t “in love” with her (don’t feel bad, she knows), unlike my boyfriend who definitely had an Oedipus Rex thing going on with his.
It felt creepy and hurt my feelings to always come in second to his mom, but I tried to be a good, mature girlfriend and overlook this since he was super- hot.
Whenever the disturbing “Why can’t you be more like my mama?” stuff would rear its freak head, instead of voicing my concerns or getting angry, I’d deal with it by shoving down the rage and letting it eat away at the lining of my stomach, the way the good Lord intended for us to handle conflict.
But, as with most troubling things in life, there comes a point when enough is enough. A time when both your pride and leaky gut tell you, “That man gots to go.”
We were working a week together at the comedy club in his hometown. Instead of staying in the luxury of his childhood bedroom, we opted for the hotel provided by the club. One night after the show, while lying in bed, he let me know that he’d like for us to go to his parent’s house the next day so that his mother could put make-up on me. Wasn’t this a lovely idea? And, she was happy to do it, because they’d already talked about it of course.
But of course.
Ever wondered if it’s a good idea to tell a woman in your bed that you’d like your mom to give her a makeover?
Now you know.
I would’ve preferred to crawl into bed wearing a rubber Richard Nixon mask with her picture paper clipped to it.
Well, as you can imagine…This and that, back and forth, blah, blah, blah.
I ended the relationship shortly thereafter. No regrets on my part. Life lesson learned. This will happen when you love a man you can never truly have because he loves a woman he can’t have since she’s already married to his father.