Dropping Hints…

16 06 2008

So as I’ve grown in my life, I’ve become quite accustomed to the women in my life being fairly adept at dropping hints.

Sometimes I’ve been really good at picking up on things. For example one ex-gf at one point a couple months before Christmas stated, “Have you seen the Tiffany’s bracelets, with the heart. So cute, I love em.”

To which with my powers as a man, picked up on the fact that she wanted a Tiffany’s bracelet and therefore she recieved one. I was of course the hero that Christmas.

However I’ve also failed many many times in the dropping of hints from women. It’s just not something I’m very good at. For starters I’m a guy. Guy’s don’t drop hints. Guys are literal. Guys say, I want such and such, that’s pretty much what they mean. Of course we’ve been known to be “confusing” but that’s because for the most part ladies, you’re looking for the deeper meaning. You’re looking for some alternate version of what was said. And it’s not your fault, it’s just the way your wired. It’s what makes us, us.

The other reason for failure to pick up on the sublties from women, is because my mom isn’t very subtle. Never has been, and I don’t think she ever will. I think it may come from the fact that she’s lived in a house full of men her entire life. I’ve got 6 brothers and my dad so it became quite imperative for her not to drop hints. Nothing would get done.

My mother is also not very shy. She’ll tell you how it is. I can tell you exactly which girls I brought home my mom like and disliked. So far I’m batting 2-4. While that is an impressive .500, that generally doesn’t get you very far in the “making wise decisions” section of mom hood. Which I’m currently ok with, considering I’ve done many a things to elevate my status of “son who makes the worst decisions.”

(side bar, I’m not some loser drug addicted flunky, I just may or may not have certain issues with the religion for which I was raised. This would be a huge factor in “son who makes the worst decisions” contests. Although two of my brothers haven’t been to college yet, I’m pretty sure I’m still the gold medal winner in this category. And if you know me, you’ll know I do love winning. The only way I drop down to the silver medal is if one of my bros. decideds to enroll into the military. If that is to take place, then it’s the silver medal podium for me folks.)

Sorry for that, back to the story.

I came home the other day to find that my mother had been shopping. I’m not sure why or when, but she has found some sort of fascination with shopping at Goodwill. I’m pretty sure it’s because of the good deals. For example when I was looking for a writing desk for my room, where did she suggest? That’s right the Goodwill. The desk was not all it was hyped up to be but that’s normal.

My mom shops a lot for her grandchildren. (This is a disturbing fact for growing up my mother bought us NOTHING that wasn’t really neccesary. This is also my theory that she is attempting to earn her way into heaven by being nice to the grandchildren.) So among the thigns that are littered on the table are a pair of kid shoes, some hawaiian t’s, some kid cargo shorts, and a nylon Red Sox’s outfit complete with jacket and pants.

She was very excited (as she always is) to show me her recent finds at the Goodwill. The shoes, shorts, and t’s were for my nephew. Which is cool, becasue he’ll be looking fly this summer. However even though my nephew has just picked up some t-ball, my mother informed me that the Sox’s outfit was actually not for my nephew….

Mom: did you see the Sox Warm up?
Me: Yeah I did, that’s awesome! Landon will love it!
Mom: It’s not for landon.
Me: Who’s it for then?
Mom: well I was thinking maybe you’d want it.
Mom: I don’t know… maybe, you’d just want it.. for the future or something?
Me: You can’t be serious right now?
Mom: Well I don’t know, just thought you know, maybe…
Me: Fine, I’ll take it, maybe I have a teddy bear somewhere I can put it on.
Mom: Yeah that will work.
Me: yeah I bet.

So there you have it. Mom started dropping hints. She wants me either
a.) outta the house.
b.) to be a babby daddy.
c.) to adopt a toddler to fit this Red Sox outfit she so proudly bought.
d.) become a “big brother” to an inner city youth.

I’m not exactly sure what to think. Although finding one of the ladies that lowered my batting average and begin hanging out with her again to piss my mom off, probably isn’t the best way to be a good son. But then again, it would probably catapult me to the gold medal podium.

I do like to win.



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