Part 10: BAD WORDS.

I had a really weird phone conversation the other day.

Me: Do you care if I blog about your boyfriend?

Mom: Which one?

Me: All of them.

That conversation does not happen every day. I don't usually get permission from people to write about them, but I felt like this topic needed her okay first.

Please note: The last time I checked, my parents are happily married and have been for 35 years. Or 36, or 82, or something like that.

Also, please note that it's really gross when you're with your parents in public and they get hit on.

Ew.

Get this: This concert and this trip were my idea. I bought the concert tickets. And yet, despite me being the instigator, my Mom is the one who constantly got hit on everywhere we went.

It's not fair.

At the concert, there was a guy sitting beside her. He was with a group of four women, and if one of those was his girlfriend, you could not tell. Not a single one of those girls paid any attention to him (of course, who would pay attention to a guy when you're in the same building as Eric Church?).

The guy was clearly a third wheel among his people.

And the thing is, he was cute. He was around my age. Did I mention he was cute?

But I never got the chance to meet him or talk to him, because he was talking to my Mom DURING THE WHOLE CONCERT.

At one point during the concert, my Mom nudged me.

"My friend just asked me if I'm going out tonight after the show."

BAD WORDS, MOM. BAD WORDS.

I told her she could put a sock on the hotel room door if she wanted to. (Gross.) She laughed.

If I had sat in that seat, I could have had a husband in a year or two. I could have lived in a penthouse palace in downtown Saint Louis (he actually lived in Jefferson City, but whatever). But no, that won't happen now, because my mom stole him from me.

I'm just joking...kind of.

When we went to the Cardinals game, she made a boyfriend there too, but he was an older guy and not as cute as the Concert Boyfriend.

Meanwhile, I did not get hit on once.

Thanks, Mom.