I am willing to skip dinner dates, Friday nights at the cinema and long walks on the beach. I am willing to skip the obligatory cuddling and the constant contact. I can go without gifts of flowers, chocolate and teddy bears.

I don’t want a boyfriend. I want a boyfriend’s mom.

Don’t get me wrong; my own mother has more than enough personalities to keep my voice mailbox permanently full and my drawers overflowing with underwear.

I want to pick the brain of an established career woman and benefit from her years of wisdom and experience. I want to hear about the wild past of a woman who didn’t write notes on the banana peels in my lunchbox.

I want to talk to a mom who will encourage me to do whatever I’d like and be whoever I want without being worried of getting stuck with the bill. I want to talk to a mom who isn’t concerned about my decisions reflecting poorly on her.

We could talk about Joni Mitchell and Carole King, maybe even Otis Redding if she is well-versed in Motown. Maybe she could trust me enough to lend me her favorite albums, not warning me once about “pressurization.”

I want to talk to a mom who won’t remind me that the towel she saw laying on my front porch last time she visited was $8 and that “I really should bring it inside.”

Essentially, I want nag-less camaraderie with a hip, older lady who knows everything I could ever hope to. I want to be guided; I want a mentor.

I want to learn the seemingly obvious things my own mother claims to have taught me long ago. I want to learn how to take chicken from a frozen form to a more edible one. It would be nice to know how to properly set a table. I guess it wouldn’t be fair to say my mom never taught me anything – I do know about a billion things that can be created from glue, balloons and popsicle sticks. At garage sales, I can bargain like no other.

The three meals my own mother knows how to cook have worn on my taste buds. I hunger for another family’s staple meals. At this point, I am sure anything is better than tuna casserole.

So on the off chance that you are flirting with me, forgive me if I ask you if your mother makes the chewy kind of chocolate chip cookies. What I am really asking is, “Is your mom wildly successful and insightful?”

If I ask you what your favorite movie is, what I am really asking is “Does your mother make a tasty lentil soup?”

A married friend of mine tells me that there is a big difference between being a girlfriend and being a daughter-in-law.

“As a girlfriend, you are a novelty,” she said. “As a daughter-in-law, you are a replacement.”

Men of Kent, I don’t want anything to do with you. I want to date (you for) your mom.

Sarah James is a junior public relations major and columnist for the Daily Kent Stater. Contact her at [email protected].