As I may have mentioned, The Girl and I have an open communication policy, particularly when it comes to issues about relationships and sexuality. There are no sacred cows and no subject is taboo. Ever. I tell it like it is and don't candy-coat anything. She knows all the lines that people will use to get in her pants and the appropriate shut-downs she can use if she doesn't want them there. She knows that men are like buses and that if one bails on her, she can wait 15 minutes and another one will come along, but the next bus will have more money, a bigger dick and know how to treat her right. She also knows that she doesn't have to marry the first one she sleeps with or the first one who asks. At least that's what I've told her, among many, many other things. Sometimes though, I've wondered how much of that wisdom, mostly gleaned from my history of really fucked up decisions, has actually gotten in.
Until yesterday, that is. We were sitting at Sonic in a neighboring town around lunchtime, sunroof open, jamming to some hot tunes and throwing down some fish sammitches while they're still around for the folks who "do" Lent (- damned ol' "limited time only" bullshit), with tater tots and cherry limeade when she informs me that The Boyfriend has been telling her how much he loves her and wants to be with her forever and how he wants her to be his wife. (Insert sound effect of car tires squealing on pavement then crashing into something, here.)
Donning my very best poker face, and with bated breath I asked, "So, what do you think about all that?"
She replied, "I told him, 'Hey dude - slow down! I mean, I love you and all but I don't even know what my favorite color is, much less who I'm going to spend the rest of my life with.' Because, jeez mom that's just effin' scary. I mean, he's going into the military after graduation and I might not ever see him again and I just don't want to have to deal with all that shit right now."
Whew - and I thought she wasn't listening.