So Jack and I have been together close to 16 years. Maybe even 17, I’m not sure. Since our junior year in college when my then fiance Ron Pearlman broke up with me to date the woman he eventually impregnated and married. He obviously liked her bunches – especially when we were dating. Anyway Jack and I dated some in high school – long enough to go to prom together, long enough for it to spill into summer, and long enough that I felt pretty. So I did what any girl in my position would do. I broke up with him to date the guys where I worked. One of them looked like Kevin Bacon I remember and the other one was a playah. I didn’t know what that was back then, but that’s what he was.
So yeah, after approximately one date with each of them I didn’t date again until I was in college. That made life kind of difficult when things like dances came around. I couldn’t very well call Jack because 1) I’d made him cry and 2) he was happily
having sex with seeing this red-headed vermin-like creature perfectly nice girl of whom I completely approved. Sooo I had to rely on the kindness of friends or, in the case of my senior prom, my birth mother’s funeral.
While standing around at the visitation making uncomfortable small talk with the many, many people my mother touched in her life a woman approached me along with my adopted mother. She’d been friends with Diana (my birth mother) a long time ago and blah blah blah and I should meet her nephew since he went to school near me and was my age. She showed me a picture, and admittedly he was a good looking guy. My interest was piqued, but you know, mourning and all….
Spring rolled around and talk turned from death to PROM, and I didn’t have a date. But I did have a phone number, so I called that lady’s nephew and we set up a time to meet face to face – after his baseball game the following week. James was a star pitcher at a private school and he had his eyes on the medical prize. And he played well and his team won and I remember sitting in the bleachers praying the curls would stay in my hair and wondering which level of hell I would land in for getting a prom date out of my dead mother’s funeral. Long story short, we met, it wasn’t a love connection, but we got along well enough.
I returned home and reported to my mother that the date was arranged and she said, “Wonderful! I’ll call your Aunt Marni and let her know!”
Aunt Marni is my mother’s sister. Lovely, fun woman, but I didn’t see why she should have a vested interest in whether or not I got a prom date. Barring of course the bets that they probably held saying I wouldn’t. “Why would she care?” I asked.
“Because he’s Uncle Barry’s nephew. He’ll be so excited.”
*cue the squealing breaks*
As my mother hurried off to make the call something inside of me died. James and I were practically related. My uncle’s nephew. Like, yeah, the gene pool was clean enough should the two of us pro-create, but STILL. EWWWWWWW!!
But, you know, prom was around the corner and it’s not like I had any other options. Also, he was cute, and no one had to know unless I opened up my big mouth.
Which I promptly did when I called Glenda. I’m not sure I accurately remember her response, but I think it was along the lines of:
“Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! You’re totally dating your cousin! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah!”
We considered my options. Not going wasn’t one because I already had a dress and she already had a date and we’d all of us together (da bizzetches in our posse) had hired the limo. I could take her brother – but even I wasn’t that desperate (after I seriously considered it. Shut up. Any port in a storm, ya know?). Or I could just keep my big yap shut and take James. Who wasn’t my cousin.
I’ll let you spend the week figuring out what I did.