Here is an experiment. Enjoy.
“DTF? What does that mean?”
Cathy smirked at the laptop screen.
“It means ‘Down to Fuck.’ Are you, Mother? Down to fuck?”
Wincing, I turned to hide my face in the closet. A burning blush started at my neck and traveled up.
“Don’t be so crass, Cathy.”
“Mother, if you’re going to do online dating, you need to know the acronyms. Otherwise, you’ll be meeting a guy for what you think is a date, but is actually threesome.”
For the fourteenth time in three minutes, I regretted asking my daughter for help. I always regret asking her for help, but this time it seemed like a pretty good idea. I’ve never done this online dating and Cathy has. Since Herb died, I hadn’t thought about dating at all. I was too wrapped up in mourning him and thinking about him. But ever since I turned 60, I’ve been thinking it’d be nice to have someone in my life, to share things with.
When I called her yesterday, Cathy made me beg her for help, first laughing at me for wanting to date, then whining that she didn’t have enough time to come over and “make her mother sound like someone you’d want to take on a date.”
I know you’re supposed to love your children, but you don’t always have to like them.