What I said: “No, it was my decision to move here. Don’t beat yourself up.”
What I wanted to say: “I’m so glad that you forced me to move to the bowels of Wisconsin and live in a crack-addict studio apartment complex on frat row to see if this relationship was ‘sustainable.’”

What I said: “Yeah, you’ve got a lot of talent. I think you should go for it.”
What I wanted to say: “There is no way in hell you’re going to make it as a professional motocross rider. No way. The fact that you think you can makes me think there is something wrong with you. How many concussions have you had? Like seven? Also, those protein shakes you drink make you smell like ass.”

What I said: “Sure, you’ve got to be there for your family. I get it.”
What I wanted to say: “I think the fact that you still go home every weekend, as a 23-year-old man, is absolutely crazy. I know one other guy who still hangs out with his parents every weekend, has his mom do his laundry, and generally doesn’t take responsibility for anything: my 12-year-old brother.”

What I said: “No, no, really. I’m not even thinking about the money.”
What I wanted to say: “I’ve been buying you food and clothes for the past eight months while you finished school and ‘took some breathing time’ before you started work as a high-paid engineer. And now, barely two dinners into your payback tab, I’m so glad you’ve decided that motocross is your life path, and you really ‘just don’t understand why I can’t support your dreams more.’”

What I said: “Let’s stay friends.”
What I wanted to say: “I never want to see your fucking face ever again.”

– Lily Ross

Photo by PierrePierre1 (Creative Commons)