Frank Sex Talk with the Daughter’s Boyfriend

That’s right, you heard me correctly.

I was answering my Facebook mail when I witnessed a rather tense exchange between my daughter, Ms. MiniD and her current boy du jour. BDJ is still in our Midwest Rust Belt declining city, going to community college and working at the local broasted chicken place (18 outlets in the metro area), and pining away for Ms. MiniD, while she has been busy at school, making friends, and going to the beach and Disneyland.

He has a visit to LA planned for a month from now, and their notes to each other started out with “oooh baby, baby, miss you, love you, blah, blah, blah” and have now ended up with tense “get off my dick”s (that’s from Ms. MiniD… yes, colorful language she has, I agree).

So, I wrote an encouraging private email to the lad, advising him to lay low when she gets bitchy. Her level of bitchiness comes and goes, just like the tide. She can be an annoying pain in the arse, but she means well and snaps out of it once the meds take effect. I also stressed to him that she really needs to get straight As or Mr. Demonic is going to have a major fit. He’s already pissed off about the school situation, and none of us wants to see him SUPER pissed.

BDJ wrote back and asked me what I meant about putting the chill on the situation. (You’d think an 18 year old would know what that means, but hey…) So I explained it to him in words that a twelve year old could understand. Then I said, “Oh, by the way, I found some interesting surprises in Ms. MiniD’s room as I was shoveling out the garbage. Care to explain yourself?”

The interesting thing was an empty condom wrapper.

My daughter is 18, which makes her a legal adult in the eyes of the law. Also, in my eyes. It’s her body. I’ve been trying to talk to her about sex since she was 8, but she is loathe to ask my opinion or discuss the topic. I remember the first day of her first period, which also happened to be the first day of middle school. She was aghast, mortified and crying, but still didn’t want to talk to me.

BDJ hurriedly wrote back that the wrapper belonged to the previous BDJ, the dude who up until last week worked in our office. OH, GREAT, is what I thought. I was contemplating if my daughter was indeed a skanky ho, or just a girl with a lot of hormones. But I thought I would use this moment of incredibly uncomfortable candor to slip something else in.

“Do you think you can talk her into getting on BC?” I wrote back. “You know, condoms are NOT 100% effective. I’m too friggin’ young to be a grandma.” Then I said, “Oh, by the way, you’re welcome around the house any time.”

BDJ wrote back that he would certainly work on that for me. Then he told me when he would be online next and that he would talk to me later.

Hmm… That worked fairly well. Now I have to get Mr. Demonic Jr.’s girlfriend to talk him out of taking a year off and into applying for graduate school.

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Becoming Adept at Biting My Tongue

Two days ago, my daughter and I took off from our Rust Belt home, on the way to SoCal and getting her registered for school.

I’m sure it is easier to launch the space shuttle than it was to get my little birdie into the car.

Regrets? I’m sure she had a few. First off, she’ll be a couple thousand miles or so away from mom and dad and their open pocketbooks. She inherited the spendthrift gene from me, and let’s face it, she’s had a comfortable life. It’s going to be hard for her to keep a budget, although God only knows we’ve been trying to get her to do that the last couple of years. If all else fails, she should do as I did and find herself a mate who is a tightwad (um, I mean thrifty).

She’ll also be a couple thousand miles away from her friends. This includes the current boy du jour. Yes, they are in love. Well, as much in love as a couple of 18 year olds can be. I was half expecting her to back out of moving to California.

It’s not like she’s going to be completely adrift with no friendly faces nearby. Her older brother will be somewhat close by, if you consider a five hour car trip to visit a sibling you’ve been in competition with all your life close. My sister is an hour drive to the south, but Ms. MiniD thinks my sister doesn’t like her. She just doesn’t know that my sister is quite opinionated (like me) and not very laid back (not like me).

The teary goodbye with the boyfriend and the best friend on Wednesday lasted for an hour. I was only moderately annoyed, because I was in tears too. The only way I was able to get her into the car was by flipping the radio over to a classical station and turning it up loud. She got in to change it back to rap-n-crap, and we were on our way.

I tried to talk to Ms. MiniD during the long car ride to the Rockies. You know, say sage nuggets like sure you’ll make new friends, this is a great opportunity for you, you’ll probably have a new boyfriend in a couple of months, etc. Don’t worry. I never got to that point. She did not want to talk, and instead spent a great deal of the time sleeping.

I instead remembered back to when I was 18. I was married. I left home without much fanfare. I don’t remember saying goodbye to my parents, much less to my best friends from high school. One day, I decided it was time to leave my city (having already left my childhood home a few months before that), canceled my lease and my telephone and left. I didn’t have money from my parents, or a credit card, but my own money. A year later, when I “came home” I went to my friend’s house and stayed there until I found an apartment. Later, when I moved to the Tundra to go to college, I was responsible for the tuition, living expenses and trips home to visit mom and dad. Money (or lack of it) was the reason why I didn’t finish college, and it limited my trips home.

My daughter is planning her triumphant Christmas return, even though I have tried to explain to her that we have depleted our resources just getting her to California. If I have to limit my own pleasure trips to the Left Coast because of the money, she will have to bite the bullet and get a job to buy a plane ticket. The days of wine and roses has past, especially with two kids in private college. Besides, if you’re truly an ADULT, you should be able to figure it out on your own.

I still want to say something, but know I shouldn’t do it. She’s not going to listen to me. Kids that age think they know everything. They won’t admit they know nothing until they have their own little birdies.

Instead, I’ve become adept at biting my tongue.