Tripping Out
Since I’m moving in a week, haven’t packed up my apartment and have more deadlines than I’ve had this whole year, TNG thought it was a perfect time to take our first trip together to visit the family. Being my new and improved easy-going self (yeah right), I agreed to go. I ignored the voices in my head that said, “Don’t do it – you’re going to have a total meltdown in front of him.”
I plotted prior to the trip – I’ll work the entire flight there and back, I’ll work when people are sleeping, and anytime I can steal in between. This will be fine, I convinced myself, as my stomach churned with anxiety. I can do this. As long as I don’t let myself cry or throw up. If I don’t cry or throw up, no one will know that I’m having a nervous breakdown on the inside.
The airport set the tone for the weekend. I got upgraded, TNG didn’t. Remember, five stars, two stars. I looked at him imploringly. “Take it,” he said, “You have to work and I’m going to sleep the whole way.” Some of you may think this selfish of me, but I took it. And I worked the whole way. And I sent him my wine and Milano cookies like any good fiancée would.
His mom greeted me with a hug. Not an overwhelmingly warm hug but a hug at least. Admittedly, I felt a little awkward and out of place – this is her son, her pride and joy, and I think the jury is still out on me especially because we got engaged since the last time I saw her and I’m shacking up with him in a week.
I swear I was meant to grow up in the fifties, because I actually felt uncomfortable when she showed us to our room. Luckily I worked all night so I never even really slept in the bed with TNG. When they got up the next morning they found me exactly where they left me – at the computer. Think I’m making a good impression for my future mother-in-law? Not so much.
She had rented a beach house for the weekend. It was myself, TNG, his mom, his sister and her husband and kids – all in one house. Let the games begin. It was complete and total chaos. His mom walked outside in her one-piece bathing suit and sarong and his sister in her tankini and button down shirt. My heart sank as I thought of my string bikini, tank top and shorts in my suitcase. Here we go, I thought. I shoved my 34 D’s into the top and headed to the sand. “Oh, I meant to tell you to bring a one-piece” his mom said as she looked me up and down. I could see my scorecard in her head getting another big fat X.
My curves were definitely the subject of the weekend. TNG’s adorable four year-old nephew is a serious boob man in the making, and was pretty much glued to my side, or rather, my chest at all times. At one point he said, “Wow, you have a really big bottom. Have you looked at it lately?” I wanted to bury my J-Lo booty (and my head) right in the sand. But the entire (skinny) family had a good laugh, and I think that was the moment when my scorecard got a its first green check mark.
As she dropped us off at the airport his mom gave me a hug and said, “See you at Thanksgiving!”
And so it begins.
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Don’t Trip
Much of the time our blog consists of an event, large or small from your life, followed by my slightly-off-center male point of view in reply. For a man, I think I’m pretty respectful of your gender. For a man, as brutally honest as I can be, I think I also cut your gender a lot of slack. For a man, I think I’m pretty honest about my gender having our own laundry list of quirks and question marks. But you guys still make me wonder, sometimes…
There are general behaviors to which virtually all women fall prey. Your visit with the dark side of falling in love (that whole, “when we marry, we marry his/her family” thing) seems to have dusted off some classics:
Woman vs. woman: You guys actually compete with each other… for what, I’ve never been able to figure out, but when women meet women, the sizing up and the phony smiles can be downright comical. “Not an overwhelmingly warm hug?” Who sizes up a hug? Women do, that’s who. Maybe you guys should dust off the high five or learn to adopt the fist bump to avoid future discomfort.
Wardrobe wars: this is simply one more area where it is SO MUCH BETTER to be a man. You’d find our standard quite liberating. “Don’t dress like a douchebag.” That’s it. That’s where most of us draw the line. Oh, and if a guy does dress like a douchebag, we rip him for it… only we do it to his face. And one more thing: No father in American history would ever call his daughter’s boyfriend and offer a poolside wardrobe guideline. How did you manage not to drink a bottle of vodka after that touching, future-family moment?
Mothers-in-law: They don’t write songs about fathers in-law. They don’t make movies starring J Lo and Jane Fonda at nuclear war with each other called, “Monster in-law.” You may have only seen the tip of the iceberg on this trip. It doesn’t have to be all bad. The good news is, you’ll probably have a new best friend. The bad news is, you probably don’t need a new best friend. The good news is, she lives 1,000 miles away. The good/ bad news is, this means that you will see her less often, but in very close quarters for more concentrated periods of time, like Thanksgiving… as in less than two months from now… as in for a five day weekend… five long days. If I ever have a mother in-law again, I hope she lives right around the corner. We don’t need to be seeing each other in our jammies.
BTW, I get the awkward moment feeling when she showed you to your room? Still, I have a newsflash for you, Peggy Sue… you’re no spring chicken. Besides, think how much more awkward you would have felt that very moment if it had come after the one-piece bathing suit comment?
There’s a great line in sports broadcasting that references the inevitability of growing older as an athlete by stating, “The only sure thing in sports is that Father Time will always be undefeated.” My rendition of that line regarding the world of serious relationships is to acknowledge and surrender to the fact that everyone, and I mean everyone brings some amount of serious baggage into a relationship. TNG seems to be pretty damn comfortable accepting your baggage into his life. If you’re being asked to gracefully accept a four year-old boy growing a four year-old boner in front of his mom, also known as your sister in-law, that is simply part of the package.
You can always write a screenplay about it.
I’m still confused about why she said the one piece bathing suit comment. I guess I’m weird bc I’m from the south, but I felt the same way when my now mother in law showed us to one room before we were married. At least you don’t have to deal with it all of the time!
I think it was a combination of me being in a two-piece with a boob-crazy 4 year old, and my body being a little more curvy than their family is used to. Honestly she’s probably as nervous about me as I am about her!
~ Her