365 Days Of Me: January 11 -- Flirt
"You need to quit flirting with women."
Mom and I had just climbed back into the truck after shopping at a department store. The statement came from out of nowhere, and it seemed to absurd that I didn't quite understand her at first.
"Huh?" I said, just looking at her.
My mother has never liked the cold, and the weather outside was 18 degrees.
"Start the damn truck," she said, waving her hand at the ignition, "I'm freezing!"
I did as I was told, but I was still confused as to what she was talking about.
Mom put her hands in front of the vents, which were blowing out cold air.
"What are you talking about?" I said, trying to figure out what she meant by flirting with women.
She just looked over at me and said, "I'm cold!"
"No," I said pulling up to a stoplight, "about flirting."
She dropped her hands and looked at me as if I had missed the obvious, "The girl back there at the store! You were flirting with her!"
As we were ringing out of the store, the girl running the register said some funny things, and I responded in kind.
I said as much, and Mom put her hands in front of the vent again, "You winked at her!" she said with exasperation.
"Only when I made fun of the prices at the store!" I said defensively.
"Oh," Mom said, putting her hands down again, looking frustrated. Whether it was the cold air or the conversation, I couldn't tell.
We were quiet for a bit, and I turned up the radio. After a few minutes, Mom said, "She probably saw it as flirting."
"I didn't mean to." I said, turning the radio down again.
"You've always done it, though. Even when you were a kid, you flirted with everyone." she said, smiling.
"How?" I asked. I put my hand to a vent, and I was starting to feel warmer air. Mom followed suit.
Mom warmed her hands a bit then said, "You have always been a friendly guy, and sometimes the women you talk to think it's flirting."
I chuckled at that. "You mean, women think I'm flirting because I'm *nice* to them?"
"Yes. I bet the men think you are flirting too." she said.
I smiled and said, "Bill thinks I flirt with all of the men I meet."
"I believe that." she said.
Mom and I have never really had a discussion about my open relationship with Bill, but Mom and I don't really need to. It is an area of my life that she isn't concerned enough about to ask too many questions.
There was another bout of silence, but it was broken with a question.
"You aren't interested in women, are you?" she asked. The tone of her voice meant that she was sincere.
The question surprised me, only because I never thought she saw me as anything but gay.
"Not intimately." I said, feeing a bit cautious.
"What do you mean?" Mom asked, and I knew she would.
After a moment, I said, "Well, I have female friends, but I don't see them in that way."
Mom sat back, obviously relieved.
This past Xmas, I had my family and friends over for dinner. Apparently, she had seen the hugs and the "I Love Yous" to my female friends, and I guess it put a spark of confusion in her mind.
But, now that I've told her the truth of the matter, she could rest easy.
She put her hands back in front of the vent again, and this time, the air coming out was warm and wonderful.
---
I take for granted that my mother accepts me for who I am, and gets dismayed if she thinks I'm trying to change. She has never attempted to change me in any way, even if she would be more comfortable if I did change.
There was a day when I was talking about all of my trips and plans for the year, and she said, "You know, I always figured that you would see the country. I never imagined that you would always come home afterward."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
She then told me after high school, she had assumed that I would travel the country and stay at each place for a couple of months at a time. I would call or send letters and gifts on occasion, and I would come home on occasion, probably around the holidays.
She spoke as if she had been thinking about this for a long time.
I told her that it was something I had always dreamed of, and she smiled at her own intuition.
"But," I said, "Life has a ways of changing your plans."
Her mood darkened a bit and she said, "Yeah, that's very true."
The conversation changed to a lighter tone, and soon we were laughing.
---
I do get restless, and most of the time there is little I can do about it. When I get this way, it makes going to the store or running an errand a bit of a challenge. I'll start the truck and my brain will start posting requests to just *drive*.
"Come on," my brain will say, "go back in, order a pizza instead of going to the store, then we can hop back in the truck and just go somewhere!"
"Where?" I think back.
"Who cares?" my brain tells me, "Anywhere but here."
"I want to, but I can't." I think, hating these conversations I have with myself. They say that only the truly sane question their own sanity, but then again, how would they know that?
I'll drive to the store, and my brain will attempt to compensate by going into Performance Mode, where suddenly I'm a stand up comedian wherever I go.
---
The grocery store is crazy with people, and the lines at the front register are running slow. The air is full of mechanical beeping as the cashiers scan each item. Nearby, a woman is playfully arguing with her daughter about a tabloid headline, and somewhere back in the store, a child is crying.
When it's my turn to check out, the girl behind the counter looks like she's having a bad day.
"How are you doing?" I ask as I put my items onto the conveyor belt.
She looked up from her register and said, "I'm OK, how are you?"
"Fine, just fine. I think my eyes were bigger than my shopping list, though."
She looked the cartful of groceries and said, "Didn't plan on getting that much?"
"I just came in for eggs." I said.
She laughed. She looked into my cart again and said, "What did you get instead?"
"Well," I said pulling a 4 pound Chuck Roast from the cart and putting it on the belt, "In all seriousness, I'm making a pot roast."
"Brave," she said, "I can't cook to save my life."
I put the last item on the belt and said, "Well, who cooks for you?"
"McDonalds." she said and laughed.
I looked at her and said, "Watch Food Network for an entire weekend. You'll get cocky and attempt to make your own pudding from scratch or something. Trust me, I know."
"Or, you could teach me." she said, smiling.
Aw crap. I was doing it again, wasn't I?
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