A little White Lie

My mother and I have this love hate relationship. She loves to tell me how I should live my life and I hate her nosey ass in my business. Thank god we live no where near each other or she would be under my skin 24/7. I get a call and it is dear ol’ Ma. She says that she is going to be in the area and would like to drop by and visit, cook me dinner and catch up. Now, I know there is no good reason for her to be “in the area” other than she’s bored and wants to snoop into my life. As I agree, thinking it won’t be that bad, she adds the extra little twist as always and says that I should invite that nice girl that I have been dating so that she could meet her. My mother was on this kick about me getting older and settling down, and kept insisting on trying to set me up with these girls, daughters of her friends or related somehow to someone she knows. So a few months back to get out of it I told her that I was dating someone. A little white lie, harmless, right. Well every time we talk now she asks me about this make believe person and each time the lie grows bigger. Now she wants to meet her. Now what?

As the day approached I made sure the pad was cleaned, disinfected, and scoured for any forgotten porn or drug paraphernalia. But I still hadno “Girlfriend”. I thought about asking some of the girls that I know to play along with me. Knowing them however they would think that it was “cute” and take it to mean much more than it did. Plus I didn’t want to be obligated to them. I needed a pro!

I got out the phone book, found what I was looking for, and dialed. “Diamond escort service, hottest girls on da west side, may I help you”? “Yeah, I like need someone to be my girlfriend for an evening” I say. “Sho you do, Don’t we all? What is you looking for” the guy on the other end asked. “No, really. I need someone to ACT like she is my girlfriend”, I say rather defensively trying to justify my call to a house of ill repute. “Look my man, just tell ol’ Dante what it is you be needing and I’ll hook a brother up”. “I need her to be normal looking, pretty and attractive, but normal looking. She has to pass as my girlfriend,” I say. “Um, hmmm, Oh, I hear ya, I hear ya” Dante replies. “Shit we gots those women here too, sho enough,” he says. I stress to him that I want her to be special, not one of the normal working girls. After all, this was my mother and the last thing I needed was some dominatrix chick showing up at the door. Dante assured me all would be cool as he took my credit card number and charged $399.00 on it. He was sure to tell me that all tips would be looked upon as a donation. “What ever” I said, just make she is on time. I gave him the address and checked one more thing off of the list.
The day with Mom wasn’t all bad. I got past the “Your hair looks like crap” and the “You live in this neighborhood?” I even tolerated the “I would love to have some grandbabies before I die” bit. We shopped; she had to make sure I had everything for the special dinner for me and my sweetie. We got back to my place and I carried all of the bags inside. I looked at the time. I had an hour until Ms. Right showed up. I needed to shower. Maybe if I played my cards right I could fool Mom and get a little dessert, if ya know what I mean.

I shower and get dressed. I have about 35 minutes until the show starts. I head downstairs to the smell of some good old fashion cooking and that is when my day took a turn for the worse. Sitting on the couch next to my mother was my date. She was special alright. Sitting next to my mother was a 6’7” 350 pound black man dressed in drag. Imagine Randy Jackson from American idol in a wig. That was who was sitting there. They both notice me and my date says in a Barry White voice, “Hi Honey”. “I can explain” was the first thing out of my mouth. “No need sweetie, I told Mom all about us” the over weight Rupal says. I approach, pleaing to my mother that it is not what it looks like and my date stands, towering over me and gives me a big bear hug. My mother sits there and smiles, as she is truly happy. I cringe. This has to be a dream I keep thinking to myself. My date sits me down on the couch between her, or him and my Mom. My mother turns and says to me “Michael my dear, you should have told me. This explains what we all have suspected for years”. What in the hell is she talking about I think. “Honey, it is OK. Get out of that broom closet my baby boy, it’s OK to be gay,” she says with a tear of joy in her eye.

We ate dinner and afterwards John Coffee and my mother sipped tea while my Mom shared stories about me growing up.