My good ol’ friend Matt C. and I love to give each other the business. For the past twenty years, we have taken it upon ourselves to keep each other in check. If one of us ever gets a little too big for his britches, the other comes along with a good-natured smack in the head, returning the recipient to cold reality and taking him down a peg. It sounds more ruthless than it really is. We’re both capable of laughing at ourselves and as well as each other.
Today I’m happy to report that Matt and his lovely girlfriend Alfia were recently engaged to be married. This news—in and of itself—opens a veritable treasure trove of Matt-ripping material for me to enjoy. You see, the formerly perennially single Matt has always availed himself of a line of humor that pokes fun at the duties and responsibilities foisted upon me by my commitment to Janeen (“Who are you texting?!?”). It would therefore suffice if I were now merely able to return the favor with similar jokes. But something much greater and more abundantly humorous has arrived. Something irresistible and packed with delicious, oozing irony has been bestowed to me. No, it is not a twelve pack of Hostess Fruit Pies. It’s better.
One of Matt’s favorite topics throughout our little twenty-year war is my mother. I was reared by an energetic and protective woman. Some might say I was coddled. My mother remains interested and involved in my life to this day. Matt certainly capitalizes on this fact with his humorous imitations of my mother’s thick New York accent and constant reminders of our shared adolescence filled with strange admonitions from my Mom (“David can throw up in the basement, but I expect better from you, Matt.”)
One of Matt’s other repeat topics is my alleged materialism. When I proceeded directly from law school into a high-paying job and an upper east side mini bachelor pad, Matt began giving me the business about it, and continued every time I purchased anything he perceived to be a newfangled luxury item. Most famously (and I’m aging us here), he used to give me a very hard time for owning…. (gasp!) a cellular phone. Matt’s preference in consumerism is for the quirky and offbeat (including some hilarious flops like those god-awful Crocs), so anytime I came up with anything he deigned expensive and/or mainstream, he gave me holy hell about it.
Another of Matt’s go-tos is this blog’s existence, and the act of blogging in general. The salt-of-the earth Matt loves to laugh at how pretentious I’ve become. I have the gall to presume that my professional gambling somehow transforms my daily life into something noteworthy to others. Matt has an oft-repeated two-word summation for this sentiment: “Dear Blogisphere!” End of story.
As you can see, I have taken a beating for many years from Matt for a) my mother’s ubiquity; b) being in a committed relationship; c) occasionally enjoying fancy things; and d) blogging.
So without further ado, I am now thrilled to present to you Matt’s future mother-in-law’s handiwork: