A Series of Awkward Conversations, Act III.

Sitting on a bench with my mother in a courthouse waiting for my lawyer the day I got divorced:

Mom: You know you’re my little angel, right?

Me: Yes, mom. Thanks. (I have been silently repeating the words Keep it together  over and over again in my head for the last hour, and I can tell that this conversation is about to take a turn for the worse.)

Mom: Do you think you’ll ever get married again?

Me: I don’t know, mom.  It’s kind of too soon to tell.

Mom: In the eyes of God you’ll never be divorced anyway.

Me: Well, I guess it’s a good thing I don’t believe in God then.

Mom: Oh my god! You’re going to hell.

Me: Would this be a bad time to mention that I don’t believe in hell either?


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