Thursday, October 15, 2009

DP 15 Oct 2009: All-in-one

Dear Prudence,

As an infant, I was traumatized by a confusion induced by my aunt and uncle. In order to conform to their decision that my mother's father should be addressed soley by the name adopted by their child (my cousin), I was forced to call our mutual grandfather "Gwumgwum". My inclination was toward greater formality, and I tended to call him "Mister Grandfather Sir", but whenever I did so, my aunt and uncle slapped me across the face. Because I spent many weekends and holidays with them, they had ample opportunity to indoctrinate me.

Much as lefthanders forced to use their right hand become dyslexic and physically maladroit (literally), I became dysphonic and verbally clumsy. I also developed a bit of a thing for older men, especially ones who let me call them "Mister Grandfather Sir".

I think it was because of this that I had a short but intense affair with my undergraduate economics professor. The affair is over, but we remain close, and he is now my grad school thesis advisor. No one knows about our relationship, including my boyfriend of one year, who thinks I was a virgin when we met.

Alas, during a recent love-making session with the BF, I happened to notice his first gray hair, and I inadvertently fell into a practice my professor described as "curve bending" (you can imagine how odd it is for me to read Mickey Kaus going on about this practice in a totally different context). My BF was astounded by my obviously practiced moves, and asked me wherever I had learned this particular sequence of contortions. The fact that I cried out "gwumgwum" when I came didn't help, especially since "gwumgwum" has a very special meaning in my BF's native language (let's just say that it has something to do with expressing satisfaction).

Reluctant to tell the BF the truth (I would be devastated if he learned about my grand-daddy fetish), I told him that I had seen the "curve bending" on a porn video a friend played at the bridal shower of a mutual friend. In fact, I couldn't be bothered to go to the shower, since the bride is a bridezilla and her friends are not much better. But now that've I lied (twice), my BF is wondering why I'm not going to the wedding (which he now expects to attend himself as my plus-one).

The problem, Prudie, is that if I go, she expects me to be a bridesmaid, and to pay for not only my own revolting orange bridesmaid dress (I have red hair: can you imagine?), but to chip into paying for her wedding dress. As she got knocked up to force her own BF to marry her, and there have been a series of delays in the wedding date, her dress has had to be altered four times already, and the bill has skyrocketed.

I'm a graduate student without much money. My question is: who do I hit up for a loan? My grandfather or my professor, that is to say, Gwumgwum or Mister Grandfather Sir?


"Up in the gwumgwum tree"

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