My daughter has moved out of the house; How dare she?

So my 22-yearold daughter, Curly Girl, moved out of our house recently, and I’m trying not to care. This is hard, because I was accustomed to our late-night chats when she got home from her job at the Evil Empire, also known as that place that sells coffee drinks at overinflated prices.

She would come into my room after her swing shift and enliven me as to every moment of her evening at work, including which customers were pleasant, which were complimentary toward her and which were flatout jerks.

I have to be honest: I never realized how personally the servers at such places take their interactions with customers. I figured they just shrugged them off. I’m now making an effort to be nicer and more kindly to the talking clown, under the assumption there’s actually a real person behind the speaker.

I’m not really much of a coffeehouse person, because I make my own coffee at home — adding cinnamon, cardamom and cocoa powder — and it’s delicious. But I’ve learned from my daughter that there are people who come through her store every day, and with whom she now has a relationship that’s more constant than the one she currently has with me. They tell her things — sometimes things she doesn’t actually want to know — but she generally encourages them because it helps to build customer loyalty.

Anyway, I’m not getting any more coffee store gossip, because Curly Girl has moved in with her fiance, also known as Not a Husband (Yet), at his mother’s house. She announced she was doing this a few weeks ago and then instantly started putting boxes in her car, apparently under the impression that I didn’t need any time to get used to this news.

There’s no bad blood involved. She and Not a Husband just decided that it was more convenient to live at the Other Mom’s house. Now, I’ve never met Other Mom. I’ve never even seen her picture. OK, OK, I admit it. I can’t actually remember her name, if anyone ever told it to me. But if the kids continue with their plans, she will be my daughter’s motherin-law someday. So, really, there’s no reason for us to meet now, right? Just because my daughter is engaged to her son? And she only lives a few miles away? What an old-fashioned idea.

I know some of you have also been through this, when your kid went away to college or the Army or jail or you kicked him out. Maybe he still lives with you. My son, Cheetah Boy, does still live with me, as does Curly Girl’s pound puppy, a Maltipoo named Lil Wayne.

It’s not the first time my daughter left. She ran away from home twice when she was a teenager. I didn’t tell you because I figured it was her business, and not mine to share. Nowadays, she doesn’t care. Later, she left for a while just because she was miffed about something stupid. But this time is different, because she’s not mad at me. She’s just grown up. How did that happen?

I knew this day was coming, and I guess I thought I’d handle it better. That I’d be living in a castle in Prague or something. Or spending every spare minute learning to flamenco dance. What’s frustrating is that I don’t even feel like drinking to drown my sorrows. People have been walking into my house lately and breaking into laughter, because I have a dozen bottles of wine on my kitchen counter. But, honestly, they were all gifts that I haven’t gotten around to putting away yet.

I don’t know why people give me wine. And corkscrews. And wine purses. They seem to think I’m some sort of drinker. Can’t imagine how they got that impression.

Anyway, I suppose wine would help, but I recently went to the Baja wine country and then to Guadalajara and drank a lot both places, and I’ve just had enough for the time being. Although if my friend ever brings over the bottle of Snoop Dogg wine he promised me, I will indulge. Seriously. Not making that up. Snoop Dogg has his own wine now. And, no, it’s not infused with anything.

Meanwhile, I’m holding out hope that someday the girl will remember where I live and drop by sometime. Anyone know where I can sign up for some flamenco lessons?

That concludes this portion of my column. However, I want to let you know that I’m going to be doing a Zoom happy hour at 5 p.m. June 25 with my friend Vicki Barbolak, the comedian you may remember from “America’s Got Talent.” Keep your eyes peeled for upcoming information on how to register for this event, which should be posted soon on scng.com/virtualevents.