Mother Eve

I sit down at midnight in a fit of quiet desperation. A bottle of red wine sits open at the corner of my desk; my sleeping dog lay, perched awkwardly, across my lap. I find solace and comfort that there is a person who exists and not only understands my pain, but speaks to it.

Mother Eve.

I write Mother Eve a letter, a desperate plea. Never did I imagine that the seed I sowed would flower into her succinct and honest response.

Below is our exchange.

Dear Mother Eve,

I am almost 42. I am single. I read that I have as much of a chance getting married at my age as I do getting hit by a car. I do, however, live in New York City, so my chances of getting hit by a car, particularly a cab, are probably exponentially higher than me getting married.

To that end, I have been traveling the country in order to see who and what might be available to me. My plan, a sampler of dates in every state in the U.S. 50 dates in 50 states – as budget, time, and schedule permit.

But, this summer has been slow. I am landlocked in New York, cash-strapped by an unemployed summer.

I feel like I am wilting.

yours in sacred flowerdom,

50 Dates in 50 States

She writes back:

Dear 50 Dates,

Yes. Yes! YES!

I know you are stepping off that nuclear hot train platform and onto a blissfully air-conditioned subway car on your downtown ride to a Sunday Summer drunk brunch, and I know you are looking at the sweaty, unshowered mess of hot love around you. You know those couples who still have the scent of alcohol from last night and sex from this morning on them, as they roll out of bed and step into their clothes form the previous evening’s romp. He wears chinos, she’s wears a strappy sundress sans bra.

You watch them through your sunglasses, so no one can see you staring, as they sit on the subway bench with their heads bent together, fawning, petting, gently stroking, stealing kisses — hair matted on the back of their heads, pores desperate for a vacuum, on their way to mimosas and sourdough French toast at some godforsaken over-priced cafe they’ll have to wait in line at before they gain entry and a table. All you want is a Bloody Mary and a freshly scrubbed dose of reality from the world around you.

You are sassy, and I like that. Don’t worry about them. You are on the right track and you know it, so own it. Everyone likes to look around and think, “what am I missing? Where’s my fleece lining. Where’s my fucking Cloud 9? When can I cash in on the shares I’ve invested in the stock market of the ticker tape of my life?”

Well, who is to say that those people are happy?! Maybe it’s the other way around. Has anyone stopped to think about that? Just because lots of people are having hot steamy sex, relationships, and getting married, doesn’t mean they’re happy. In fact, most of them are rather unhappy. But not you!

You are charting your own course. You are breaking away from the mold. You are blossoming even further into the beautiful flower you already are. Fuck the packaged love fertilizer everyone is trying to sell you.

Focus on pleasuring yourself in every which way. You are a divine petal. If you don’t nourish yourself emotionally, physically, spiritually, and sexually, then you can’t expect someone else to come along and figure out what tickles your funny-bone, let alone your g-spot.

There’s still a lot of summer left. 50 dates in 50 states? Try 50 states of pleasure. your pleasure, and then see where your geographic goals take you. Start by discovering your eastern seaboard. 

I expect a full report!

divinely and with gusto,

Mother Eve.

Is she telling me to masturbate?

I don’t need to travel to those other 41 states for that. I can that at home.

Unemployment isn’t so bad, is it?


To see Mother Eve live and up close in New York City, at the New York Fringe Festival, purchase tickets at

She dispenses her good advice on

Wed. Aug 15th @ 2:30 p.m.

Sun. Aug 19th @ 8:00 p.m.

Tues. Aug. 21st @ 9:00 p.m.

Thurs. Aug 23rd @ 4:30 p.m.

Sun. Aug. 26th @ 2:00 p.m.

2 thoughts on “Mother Eve

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