crafty mother…fucker

In my early 20’s, I dated Darrell, a man who kept our relationship a secret from his old-fashioned Korean mother because he knew she wouldn’t approve. She wouldn’t approve because I was a single mom. And because I didn’t have a college degree. And because anything less than a docile lawyer or doctor wouldn’t do for her firstborn son. Even if Darrell was living in a studio apartment with a bed that folded down from his wall, and his job barely afforded him enough to stay a member of good standing with his Jazz CD-a-Month Club.

When he finally told her about our relationship, she showed up at his doorstep and locked herself in his bathroom. She had a soft voice, so it was hard to make out exactly what she was threatening, but Darrell finally figured out that she had taken a pledge not to eat until he ended our relationship.

I was impressed. The dramatic display alone was enough to grab anyone’s attention, but I also had to give her credit for her speedy call-to-action. After hearing the news, she booked a ticket, flew overseas from Korea, flagged down a cab with her broken English, and showed up at his doorstep…all within 27 hours.

Three days later, Darrell and I met at a nearby Einstein’s Bagels for a cup of coffee.

He took my hand and said, “I have to break up with you because I don’t want my mom to starve to death.”

Alright, old lady, you win. I can’t top that.

Worst break-up line you’ve ever had to deliver? Overheard? Received?

image via knockknock.biz