Most women I know dread becoming their mothers. They’ll say something out of character – whether it be more biting, more conservative, more in line with Wiccan teachings, what have you – and follow it up with, “Oh, God. It’s happening! I’m turning into my Mom!”
This is not a problem for me. My mom is awesome. If, in 30 years, I wake up to find myself identical to her, my life will be a success. She paints, she has a wicked sense of humor, she’s impossible to beat at Trivial Pursuit, and – most of all – she has an amazingly clear-eyed view of human nature. Y’all, my mother knows All The Answers. Sometimes, however, these answers surprise her eldest daughter.
My mom is really great about not prying into my personal life (Unlike my father, whose fears of my impending catladydom have turned him into a deluded matchmaker, convinced my soulmate is the pest control man’s grandson, because “he looks like your type – scruffy, wearing a vest.”), so our relationship conversations are few and far between. Most of the time, they happen because I am in dire need of some advice. Like when I asked “So…would we call a man’s habitual pot smoking a deal-breaker?”
Y’all, I know. I’m a traitor to my generation. Yes, I think marijuana should be legalized and I don’t care if my friends do it, but it’s not something I’m personally into. I hate being drunk, much less high. It’s just not something I can relate to – I prefer all my faculties to be in full, working order. Plus, let’s be honest: I’m paranoid enough. Can you imagine a high version of me? Jesus Christ. That’s a terrifying thought.
So, yeah, I don’t smoke. Quite a few of the men I’ve dated, however, have. It hasn’t bothered me, when it’s only a couple times a month, but when it’s all the time? My brain starts turning. Do I really want to start a relationship with someone who is so fundamentally opposite of me, in this lifestyle choice? What if he chooses smoking over hanging out with me? What if he gets caught? Oh my God, what if I get caught, because I was aware of it and that is also (maybe) a crime? What if he smokes, because if he doesn’t, he turns into the Hulk, thanks to a gamma radiation experiment gone terribly, terribly wrong?
Why, yes, my brain is a terrifying place. Yet, these questions are valid. (Especially the Hulk one – have comic books taught us nothing? Radiation is not to be trifled with, people!) Or, they seemed that way anyway, before I talked with my mother, whose response went a little like this:
Grace, you’re being ridiculous. Some people need pot to relax. Some people need books to relax. Just because you’re the latter doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with the former. Be glad he has it in his toolbox and it works. I wish your dad would smoke a bowl sometimes, it would really help him out. Hell, if I get Glaucoma when I’m 80, maybe your friend could hook me up with a reputable dealer. Besides, it’s better for you than cigarettes, unless you’re one of the teenage boys in which it induces psychosis. Does it induce psychosis? If he’s completely functional, who cares?
Duly noted. So, yeah. My mother is way cooler than I am and, apparently, my dad could use some pot. These are the things a girl learns, when taking advice from Grace’s mom.