Mother : Perhaps it is time to settle down with a nice girl.
Paul : Dear God, not again. Surely you have another dead horse to beat somewhere?
Mother : I don't believe the subject is as dead as you think, my son.
Paul : What more do I have to add? I do believe we have discussed this at length, mother.
Mother : But surely one of the pretty young ladies that you have met?
Paul : I beg of you, banish any such misguided thoughts on matchmaking since I clearly do not feel the urge to seek any such opportunity. Any such well-meaning attempts in the past, I have obviously had little interest and have entirely repudiated them.
Mother : But have you even tried?
Paul : Mother, much as you would have it, I shall never engage in a romantic liaison with any woman. It is simply not in my nature.
Mother : Surely a phase of some sort?
Paul : Quite a peculiar phase to last through several decades and two boyfriends.
Mother : But what about a family? Don't you want children?
Paul : It would make it a little trickier but I haven't given up on that just yet.
Mother : Well it looks as if the pot is nearly empty. Perhaps more tea?
Followed by a shockingly smooth segue to an entirely unrelated topic.
Not a play, nor a farce but my very own drawing room experience in Netherfield. Since I found myself already at a loss for words with my mother's seemingly blase acceptance, I found it easy to just disengage myself with a mindless ramble of inconsequential nothings.
I have a deep sense of foreboding.
Some time back I made fun of a friend's coming out tea party - never knowing that I'd be the one inadvertently coming out over earl grey and scones. It had certainly never occurred to me that my mother's surprise visit to Netherfield would inexplicably alter my life thereafter.
After the exhausting mental and emotional suspense in the months leading up to this pivotal tea for two, I half expected - and admittedly dreaded - a wild, hysterical scene replete with wailing and weeping that wouldn't seem entirely out of place in a melodramatic Korean daytime drama. Or at the very least a broken tea cup flung squarely against the pink chintz wall.
What actually happened was seriously underwhelming to say the least. Though I hadn't set out to make my intentions known, I realized that it was my one opportunity to speak my mind. The love that dare not speak its name and all that. Made a bit of a push to get the discussion going but apart from a few brief sniffs and sighs from my mother, I could have been talking about the inclement weather in these parts. And as the final coup de grâce, my mother even offered to fetch me more scones.
I didn't know whether to feel relieved - or worried.
Of course my fortunate mother has had years and years of steady preparation for this unsettling revelation since I hardly kept my wayward sexuality secret from her. Or anyone else for that matter. Just a glance at my living room table with the shockingly wanton display of magazines geared towards homosexual men would be enough as proof.
Not to mention the always-present boyfriend in my bed.
No, it's not exactly a Sherlockian mystery to solve. Well at least I hope she is no longer in denial.