Marshmallow flame out

Oh good God. I haven't seen the Boyfriend Candidate in two weeks. I don't know what the dating rules are, but even I can guess that this is not a good thing. But I have to say I don't mind. Maybe the feelings are mutual.

So the BC asks if I'm inclined to see him this weekend. I say "yes" even though I'm thinking "what for?" Every instinct in my body was telling me to just say no. Still, I went.

I got to his house - kids in tow mind you, he didn't ask me to get a sitter and I don't have the extra money for one any way - and he walks out wearing the old man athletic socks and sandals. I almost bust a gut laughing. Probably not a good way to start an evening, with me pointing and laughing and telling him how I wrote a blog entry on his socks recently.

So it's all a downhill crash after that. Nothing he could do was right and I could barely look at him. But I really knew it was bad, as in not just me making the glass half empty but his glass really was empty, when we started roasting marshmallows in the back fire pit. My three boys love to do this and were sitting with raptured attention as the BC explained how to turn the marshmallow just so, how to find the hot spots, how to know when to take it out of the fire. His example marshmallow was just about done when he pulled it out of the flame, blew on it and with my children licking their lips and holding out their graham crackers, he put it in his own mouth. Made some orgasmic sounds, got up and walked into the kitchen. Leaving us staring at each other in disbelief.

I know as a mother, as a parent, my life is about self sacrifice. I can't remember the last time I got the best of anything: best piece of chicken, best seat at the movie, best night's sleep, you name it. It all goes to them. But to have the BC, a man I have known and loved with enthusiasm, plop a marshmallow in his mouth that my children had coveted for five minutes...... enough. These kids were literally at his feet, hanging on his every word, eyeballing that damn marshmallow, waiting for the goods just to watch him take it, get up and walk away. It was a first cousin to torture.

They looked at me and I said "we're leaving." Fifteen minutes we were out. Oh well. We'll see where it goes from here. I've often said I didn't like him with my kids, that he was just for me. But I'm not sure I can get that image out of my head. Marshmallow hog.