I need to move out of the family house. Like…three years ago.
Me: (sorting through the mail) You have a letter from a convent…?
Mama Winkelman: Oh they replied!
Me: …who replied?
Mama Winkelman: The nuns!
Me: You’re writing to nuns now?
Mama Winkelman: Well of course!
Me: May I ask why?
Mama Winkelman: To ask them to pray for your soul and to help you find a job.
Me: Oh. Of course. I should have suspected as much.
Mama Winkelman: (reading the letter) They want to know if you’ve ever considered joining the priesthood.
Me: (hysterical laughter)
Mama Winkelman: Don’t mock the nuns, Justin.
Me: (still laughing) I’m sorry. Maybe you should tell them I write about sex. You know, blow jobs and writhing on satin sheets while one’s lover eats them out? Would they think that is appropriate for the clergy?
Mama Winkelman: I don’t like that kind of language. “Lover,” agh. And I thought you gave up writing that trashy novel and had moved on to an autobiographical series of essays?
Me: I have.
Mama Winkelman: Well then why would that kind of…pornography be in there?
Me: (realizing my mother is the queen of denial and is still pretending I’m a virgin. And straight) Well…it’s just that…I was referring to the trashy novel! Those scenes are so difficult to write, would you believe? I have to brag about them now since they took so much…creativity…to write.