Stop Moving Around During Sex!

This and other wisdom from the Queen of King of Prussia

young woman asking walton goggins for selfie at Penn Station

My friend “Marie” is 35. About a year ago, Marie dropped me off at the Sacramento train station. On the curb, as the two of us waved goodbye, another woman who had also just been dropped off by someone turned to me, unbidden, and said, “Oh that’s so nice of your daughter to drop you off!”

I wanted to reply, “Oh it’s so nice of you to want to be murdered with my bare hands.” Yes, technically, I could be Marie’s mother. But we look nothing alike. She is petite and blonde with a round, sweet face. I’m tall with dark hair, much of it gray now, and I am more, shall we say, severe looking. Also, why would you assume anyone was anyone’s daughter or anyone’s anything. It’s like the bartender at the BJ’s in Carlsbad who told me and my brother we were “an attractive couple.”

Sir. Ma’am. No.

So this lady thought my friend was my daughter for zero reason other than she witnessed me disembarking from her car exactly once, while in the ongoing process of being older than she is. I’m sure the lady didn’t mean any harm. And it wasn’t just the part of it that made me feel old. I am not Marie’s mom, that’s so gross, because mentally, Marie and I are the same age.

Marie is from Philadelphia. (So is another friend of mine who really is named Marie!) Judging from the number of friends I have from there or near there apparently I will hang out with anybody from this part of the world. You could introduce me to a pit viper coated in toxic slime and if he was from Philadelphia or New Jersey, I’d say, well, you know what, nobody’s perfect, let’s go get a cup of coffee.