My Mom and “Frank”

I let my mom read “Frank” and now she’s asking me a million questions and demanding to know backstory. And then she says to me, “It’s just weird when you realize your daughter knows as much about sex as you do.”

And I got all embarrassed and blurted out, “I only know what I read in books!” and then I felt like that made me sound like I just sit around reading dirty books, so I then blurted out “I only know what the Butcher tells me!”

And then my mom laughed and I laughed and it kind of broke the tension.

It’s weird the moments in which you’re both kind of like “It’s the same as when I was 14” and how weird and nice it is when something happens to make you go, “Oh, right, you’re 65. I’m 37. We’re all adults here.”

One thought on “My Mom and “Frank”

  1. Sigh. I too recently had the conversation wherein s-e-x was acknowledged to have occurred. I kinda think it would’ve been better to have been *out* about it years ago–then again, my dad’s (surprisingly) isn’t the “separate bedrooms” kind of household when significant others are present, so maybe it was always implied but not acknowledged?

    Sometimes being a trailblazer is more fun than others.

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