I was more nervous about meeting his parents than I have been with any other guy. Believe it or not, I’m normally a fairly adept parent-charmer. My ex’s mom adored me. In fact, she still calls me, hoping one day I’ll reunite with her son.
Contrary to popular belief, there are more sides to me than the one seen here. Up here at Single Girl Blogging, I’m a brusque, foul-mouthed tart, or as some of my admirers lovingly dub me, “whore.”
However, I know when to hide the hooch and bring out the smart, sweet, loving girl next door.
But Tom’s parents were different. His father is a staunch Republican and his mother a devout Christian.
Anyone who knows me will testify that I am the complete opposite of either of those.
Now, smart sweet girl knows better than to bring up politics or religion, but Tom’s dad lives and breathes politics. According to Tom, his father wakes up in the morning, turns on Fox News and shouts at the television until bedtime. His mom goes to church every Sunday and one morning, as I was stroking Tom’s anaconda, she called to pray with him and asked God to bring him a “good Christian woman.”
So when the time came to meet them, I was shitting spaghetti squash.
I shunned the famed boob dress and instead selected a very tasteful frock and cardigan I normally reserve for work. Instead of thigh-high boots, I wore sensible two-inch heels. I could have easily passed for a Republican.
They took my vegetarian ass to their favorite steakhouse for dinner, and I was on my best behavior. I was not about to risk an odorless fartfest tonight.
I accepted a glass of wine so as not to seem uptight, but only drank half to make sure I wouldn’t slip up and say “cocksucker.” When Tom (a little buzzed himself) showered me with PDA, instead of grabbing his crotch, I coyly shooed him away.
Apparently my karmic debts cashed in, because I successfully kept all food and liquid out of my lap. And this time, when the waiter removed my dish, a layer of crumbs did not remain on the table representing the circumference of my plate.
I was a winning conversationalist, and thankfully, the two taboo topics never surfaced. I think I scored some major points. At the end of the night, they presented me with a calculator embossed with the family name.
I bid them farewell and headed home. Driving back, I wondered what they were saying about me.
I awoke to a text this morning. It read, “Good morning, baby. I just want to say you are one classy lady. My parents loved you. I’m such a lucky guy.”
Classy? Me?? Ohh, fuck yeah!!
I pulled it off, muthasuckas. But don’t congratulate me just yet. They’re here for another week – plenty of time to muck it all up. Nevertheless, I passed the dreaded first impression test. And for the time being, a Republican and a Christian think I am classy.
What is your “meet the parents” story? Did everything go as planned or is it a horror story? Spill it!
Categories: True Story