A well-meaning mom tried to offer, ahem, marriage advice

Published 1:30 am Wednesday, May 17, 2017

By Saralee Perel

My mother and I had a talk in 1977, one week before my marriage to my husband, Bob. It wasn’t just any talk. It was “the” talk.

We were shopping for wedding gloves for me at a fancy shop. Pretending to be nonchalant, Mom cleared her throat and whispered, “It’s time we have a talk about … you-know-what.”

I ran my fingers across a pair of white satin gloves that appeared to have a hundred tiny pearls on them. I loved them, but when I saw the price tag, I put them back. “About what, Ma?”

She looked around, then quietly spelled out, “S.E.X.”

That surprised me. Mothers know nothing about sex.

I said, “Fine. Let’s talk. You start.”

“Not now, Saura Leah (my Hebrew name). Everybody’s listening. Shtil! (‘be quiet’ in Yiddish).” She pushed me out the door.

Back then, Friendly’s was called Friendly Ice Cream. We both needed ice cream — badly. Mom chose the booth tucked away in the corner.

She said, “You’ll probably have it.”

“Have what?”

“You know ­­— relations.” She took a deep breath, then started in, “When a momma bear and a poppa bear love each other very much ….”

“Ma, I’m 26 years old!”

She squeezed my cheek. “And I’m proud you waited this long.”

Then we both sat in anxiety-inducing silence. She mumbled, “Your father and I ….”

I flushed bright red. “Ma, please. A different topic?” I couldn’t help but picture my parents having sex. An absolutely revolting picture.

Flustered, she said, “Bob was married before. They probably had sex, so he knows what goes where.” She firmly took my hand. “Sex is not all fun and games, my child. Just close your eyes and pretend you’re having a Reuben.”

“Can we please change the subject?”

“It was hard for your father that Bob’s not Jewish.” She swirled melted ice cream into the fudge. “And from New Hampshire yet, where everybody lives in trailer parks. Plus, Bob’s not even a doctor’s assistant, much less a doctor. And he has no real money. Oy, don’t get me started.”

“MO–THER, he loves me and I love him. That’s what matters most.”

“Who told you that?”

Regardless of Mom’s mindset, all she truly wanted to do was help me.

After our ice cream, we held hands as we ambled down the street.

The last thing we did was to go back to the fancy shop, where she took a tiny purse out of her handbag, counted up single dollar bills and bought me those expensive white satin gloves.

Columnist Saralee Perel can be reached at sperel@saraleeperel.com or www.SaraleePerel.com.