Handle With Care

Modern-day dating, in my opinion, is very much like going to a buffet. First, you have to pay – most of the time, a lot of – money for this experience (“I hope this works out because I got my hair and nails done, and bought a new pair of shoes”). Sometimes, the pizza that has always been a solid for you everywhere else simply doesn’t taste very good (“He was my type, but there just wasn’t any chemistry”). Most of the time, you spoon a lot of items onto your plate but after one bite realize it’s much different than how it looked on display (“I really wanted it to work because he was cute, but he checked his phone throughout the date/talked only about himself/told me he is soul-searching AKA he is unemployed right now”).

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The pizza, burger, ice cream, and seafood have not worked out so far. Maybe better for the diet I am starting tomorrow.

There exists a rare breed in our population, however, who never have to experience this god awful process. These are the people who show up to the buffet, fall in love at the host stand, and skip into the sunset never having to consume misogynistic pasta, unfaithful salad, or crab legs that don’t know what they’re doing with their lives.

One of these people is my sister. For almost a quarter of a century, she showed no interest in the topic of significant others, until one day she showed up with a boyfriend who she reminds us often “is obsessed with her.” For the last two years of her three-year relationship with him, the pair has managed living an hour away from each other by spending the weekends together.

So when my sister was away at sea – they’re both in the Coast Guard – Papa Kim announced in our family chat that she had received a package at home, including a photo of said shipment. Zooming in, I noticed that the sender was her boyfriend so like any nosy sibling I asked, “Is it necessary to send things to each other when you guys see each other every four days?”

What does my mother say in response?

Mama Kim: “Are you jealous?”

Are-you-Jealous-GIF

My! Own! Mom! Said! That! To! Me!

ZING.

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