The Reality of Calling Home

Mom: Hi honey!! Daddy and I miss you so much! How’s everything going, did you have a good first week of classes?

College Freshman: Hi Mom. Everything’s great. My classes are way easy. (Translation: I have no idea how I got here. My professors use big scary words and they don’t put smiley faces on my essays the way Mrs. Johnson used to do. I’m not the smartest person in my classes and I might be suffering from depression because of this.)

M: Good for you, I’m so proud of you! So what did you do last weekend? It must have been something important, since you neglected to call home…

CF: Oh, sorry about that! I was just so busy making lots of new friends and joining clubs that I just never had a chance to call you! I thought about you all the time, though. (I got incredibly fucked up last weekend and forgot I even had parents or what my name was.)

M: We’ve been thinking about you, too, sweetie. So, it’s Friday, any big plans tonight?

CF: I might go to a small get-together with a few close friends. (I have to decide between the lingerie party at the Pi Kappa Alpha house or the Sigma Chi guys’ trip to Tijuana. Either way, I’m getting really fucked up tonight with hundreds of slutty sorority girls and skeevy guys.)

M: Aww, your first college party! It sounds like so much fun! What are you going to wear?

CF: Oh, I’m going casual. Jeans and a sweater, probably. You know me, I love to be comfortable. (No matter which party I go to, I will arrive looking like a total slut. By the end of tonight, the entire student body is going to know intimate details about your little girl’s body. Including that tattoo I got last weekend that you have no idea exists. And that I didn’t know existed until I woke up the next morning. Who the hell is Juan Carlos, anyway?)

M: That’s good, honey. But remember, it never hurts to look your best. Speaking of, any cute boys?

CF: Moooom! Don’t embarrass me. (I’ve lost track of the number of boys I’ve made out with so far. And there’s this weird sore on the inside of my lip that I’m hoping is just a remnant of overenthusiastic Toothy McNibblerson from last Saturday, and not a communicable disease.)

M: Sorry, you’re right, it’s none of my business. Have you done laundry yet?

CF: Yep! (No.)

M: You’re so on top of things. Well, I’ll let you go, I’m sure you have tons of things going on tonight. Daddy sends his love, and we can’t wait to see you at Thanksgiving! Love you!

CF: I love you too, Mom! Miss you tons! (I love you and I miss you. Also, if I choose the frat party in Mexico, these may be the last words we ever exchange, so you should know, it was really my weed that you found hidden under my mattress during senior year. The gardener did not break into our house and hide his stash in my room. I hope his family didn’t starve after you fired him.)