A Girl...

Simon Says - "Halloween is for Horror"

So, as you all know, I met the folks.

Here is what you are expecting to hear:

"It was sooooo great! They are sooooo nice! We got along soooooo well!"

What you are actually going to hear is this:

Lordy. I have really only done this once before in my entire life, the whole meet the parents thing, and last time it went swimmingly. I really set myself up for this one though, blindly, blithely, without any sense of forewarning. I stepped off of the precipice, and you'll never believe where I landed.

So we come in at about 7:30 AM after driving all night. I'd been awake for 26 hours, and only had about 4 hours of sleep the night before that, so I was pretty much a zombie. All I wanted was sleep. That is all. Beautiful sleep. Pam, AKA "THE MOM" was waiting for us in the driveway, one eyebrow raised, all suspicions aroused. Leah got a huge hug, and pinch on the cheek, rubbing of noses, all the things that a long-lost daughter freshly driven from California should get from a mom.

What did I get? I got that "guy-nod" thing. You know, like when two guys see each other, and they sort of flip their heads in each other's general direction. I had thought that, as the new boyfriend, I might get a warm greeting, a big smile, or even, if all went well, a welcome hug. Instead, I found myself standing in the driveway in the drizzling rain, my hand extended to shake, just hanging there, like a droplet about to fall from the tip of an icicle. And coldness to match.

A moment passed, in which I swallowed my pride, and I allowed my hand and my newly aroused bile to fall back into their proper places. Then we (and by "we," I mean "I") grabbed our bags, and traipsed across the lawn to the house. The garage was empty, and I asked if I could pull in, at least long enough to unload. No, says mom, it will bother the cat to have a strange car in the garage. (The CAT?) And off zooms mom, off to work where she apparently reigns with an iron fist over the cowering hospital staff.

I had packed a lot for the long drive*, and I didn't want to leave any of it in the car, lest it get stolen, so it took me about 12 trips from the sidewalk, up the driveway, through the living room, down the stairs, and into my room. I use the word "room" a bit liberally - more on that later. What was Leah doing while I carried all that stuff through the drizzling rain?

She's inside drinking hot chocolate with dad. Oh Jeezus, the dad. THE DAD. Wait till you hear about this guy...

I finished carrying all of the stuff through the ever-harder-driving rain, and I'm soaked at this point. Having been more-or-less abandoned by my girl, I found my way through the entry hall, through the sitting room, past the library (with the gun case - shiny rifles, very large handguns, all tastefully lit by a single halogen bulb), and into the kitchen.

The first thing dad says is, "Do you want hot chocolate?" I thought this was so friendly... the first real good sign I'd gotten. "Sure," I replied, "I'd love some. I'm freezing."

And he asks me to make him some too. With a smile, of course.

I am a good sport, so I made us both hot chocolate. And he, just like mom, gives me the dude-nod (as I have come to call it after the weekend. I'm surprised that they don't all have whiplash).

Now dad gets real paternal:

"Leah, I'm so glad you made it her safe and in one piece!"

Leah mentions that I drove almost the whole way, and dad comments that he is therefore surprised that we made it, as I don't look like I am in any shape to drive. Lord, I can't tell if this is passive aggressive or just aggressive. About 3 minutes later, I figured it out.

Leah, as tired as I, says that she is going to brush her teeth, and hit the sack. So while I sit and drink my ho-cho, she hits the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Dad turns to me, smiling.

"Touch my daughter under my roof, and you'll leave with a limp."

Dad keeps smiling, and sips his ho-cho.

Nope, nothing passive about that. Not even a little bit.

So now it's bed time - we need a few hours to just get to functioning level. And I am escorted by DAD back down to my room, where I am to sleep for the next few days.

Leah was in her old room, with the canopy bed, the thick down mattress, the comfy pillows, the THICK shag carpet, and the little spinny-light that shines unicorns and stars on the ceiling.

I was in the "finished basement." Finished is a subjective term, you know. In this case, I think finished was supposed to mean, "I'm finished being in this basement." Cinderblock walls. Paint cans. A huge box filled with VHS tapes with names like "Brenda Takes it All" and "Big and Nasty". The water heater (yes, the water heater) was about four feet from my head. The floor was not cement, thank god; it was old cracked linoleum upon which I actually cut my foot. Yup, sliced the shit out of my toe. The good news is:

1. It was not cold, since I was right by the water heater.

and

2. The limp I left with was solely due to slicing my toe, not due to any daughter violating that might have gone on - Leah was sleeping two stories up, and there were BELLS ON THE BASEMENT DOOR. They even knew when I was up to take a leak. I suspect, but I am not sure, that dad's hand was rested gently upon a shotgun each time I urinated after 11:00 PM.

So this is what it was like for the first TWO HOURS of our stay. And we were there for an additional 50 hours. I will spare you the complete play-by-play, but there is one other specific event that I want to relate: The Meeting of the Ex-Boyfriend. No, not Ethan, but the first boyfriend, the high school boyfriend. I'll call him Zack. Oh, Zack, Zack, Zack. The ex that every boyfriend wants to meet.

Zack seemed like a nice enough guy when I'd heard about him before. Friendly, easy-going, very happy-go-lucky. We stopped in to see him on our way to dinner one night (ha ha funny story - dad forgot his wallet, guess who ended up paying for steak and lamb and seafood for me, Leah, mom, dad, brother, grandmother, grandfather, and a drink that dad bought for a friend who happend to be there that night? Mm-hmm, you bet...) because Zack has recently bought a new house, and Leah hadn't seen him for a few years.

So we get there, and we meet Zack and his lovely wife Amy. Zack is, as I suspected, very easy going and friendly. He is a touchy-feely type. Yessiree, touchy touchy touchy. More than the average person. The type that gives an ex-girlfriend a hello kiss on the lips, and then kisses her again, but holds that one a liiiiiitle bit too long. And then he's also the type that holds onto her hips from behind while reminiscing about high school. And also the type that accidentally brushes his forearm against his ex-girlfriend's more sensitive areas right in front of her current boyfriend. Zack. Hmmmm.

Yup, quite a trip, that weekend in Utah.

Key phrases for Google search:

- psycho dad
- posessive mom
- angry, violent, knife-collecting brother with a scar on his FACE
- guests do the dishes
- guests made fun of for not liking lima beans
- listen to mom play the clarinet for about two hours straight
- smells like mothballs and engine grease

A few actual quotes:

- "You don't seem very smart"
- "I don't know what makes you think that's OK"
- "If we wanted to know that, we'd have asked our daughter"
- "Touch this and you die"
- "Look at this - it's been bleeding all day"
- "I'll get right to the point... you're not what I had in mind"
- "Don't waste my time, and I won't waste yours."
- "Just stop that, please."

Fast forward a few days, and let me give you an image that will summarize my feelings about the whole trip:

Tire marks on the street out front from one Honda Element leaving Utah as fast as is humanly possible.

How was your weekend?

* This is the only true statement in this story.