Cecily: At least your parents know who you are.
Alexander: They’re from Texas. They have no clue how to handle the malaise-riddled, bilingual, gender non-binary gay man that shares their genetics. They’d die of aneurysms if they met the people with whom I keep company: charlatans, musicians, career hedonists, trust fund druggies, and the older men with whom I seek to fill my paternal void (usually via sex and misplaced feelings).
Delilah: Their whole marriage they’ve had no connection with each other, aside from money. Now they can gleefully bitch about their delinquent daughters. One’s a french libertine, the other’s a suicidal mental case. It’s like high school, only there’s less attention to fashion and Leonardo DiCaprio’s “dad bod”.
Cecily: Why is mother so worried?
Delilah: Because she already thinks your choice of lifestyle is for vagrants. Now you’ve apparently lost your big strong man whom she worked so hard to mentally remasculate. Now you’ve lost your dick and you’re a vagrant. It’s their worst nightmare.
Cecily: I’m still living with my “big strong man”.
Delilah: And searching for apartments. You know how worried that makes rightwing stingy lunatics. Anyway. They’ll find any excuse to discredit your choice of career because you’ve accidentally chosen one that you enjoy. They won’t be happy until you’re stuffed in an unflattering pantsuit lecturing greasy mormons on the virtues of long-term investments. Last thing I heard them on the phone about: “She can still get an MBA.”
Cecily: Thank god I live far away.
Delilah: Well everything is right and dandy over here. Everyone thinks I’m manipulating the shit out of them. I can’t even pick up a banana without the house exploding with terrified whispers of my banana-commie plot.
thedailymails 