How He Met My Parents

When the Palinode and I were first dating, I brought him to my parents’ house for supper one evening. He and I had already been friends for several years, so I had some idea where our relationship was headed, and I wanted my family to get a chance to meet him.

I was nervous about the whole thing, because I come from a conservative family, and, as much as I had warned the Palinode about keeping himself in check, I didn’t think he really understood what I meant. When I was growing up, we weren’t even allowed to say gosh, because it sounded too much like taking the Lord’s name in vain.

What I was really worried about, though, was the smoking. Both of us smoked back then, and the Palinode was a veritable chimney. My mother? She abhorred the habit, and I spent the afternoon rigid with anticipation, waiting for the moment when the Palinode, unable to hold off any longer, would whip out not a pack of cigarettes but his pouch of tobacco and rolling papers, because not only did he smoke a lot, but he also rolled his own cigarettes like he was some kind of very tidy hobo. If anything was going drive this family introduction over a cliff, I was sure it would be his pouch of Drum tobacco.

I was wrong about that, though, but only by a hair.

My father was taken with the Palinode. I could tell, because he’d broken out a fresh bottle of Crown Royal for the occasion.

“So,” my father said, leaning in to insinuate gentlemanly camaraderie, “Are you much of a golfer, Palinode?”

The Palinode was not a golfer. I doubted that he’d ever even putted. I held my breath.

“Well, sir,” said the Palinode, leaning back against the picnic table as he geared up for what looked to be a humdinger of a joke, “I’m less of golfer, you might say, and more of a smoker.”

My soul let out a tiny, withered eep as MORE OF A SMOKER echoed around inside my head. I looked at my mother, sure her face would have the blank stare that overtook it whenever one of us accidentally dropped a damn or, God forbid, a shit, but she looked enchanted. The magic he’d worked on me seemed to have overtaken her, as well, because rather than cut the evening short she said, “Well then, we’ll have to take you to the driving range and give you a taste for golfing.”

I guess what’s meant to be is meant to be, whether or not, by all outside appearances, it should have been a complete and epic failure.

How’d your meet-the-parents go?

About Schmutzie

Schmutzie can most commonly be found at Schmutzie.com, but she's also the founder of Ninjamatics and the Grace in Small Things social network in her ongoing efforts to make stuff on the internet and spread things that don't suck.

She gets social on Twitter, Facebook, Flickr, and StumbleUpon.

Comments

  1. Alexandra says:

    Truly, adorable and so fit for who you are.

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  2. Kylene says:

    Your’s is so cute!! Mine was terrible! First — I live in the south and they live in the north, so I introduced him to them on my blog and said the one thing that would put them off. I’m not going to go into it, but the OUTRAGE! It still goes on. And then he met them in person a long while after that and said something about playing D&D and my very conservative mother pulled me aside and was all “We don’t like D&D, do we??!” All in all, a failure of a first impression. Which might explain why my dad, just before walking me up the aisle for my wedding, asked “Are you sure?” And why my mom seems constantly surprised, 4 years into our marriage now, that he makes me HAPPY! The amazement!

  3. Gina says:

    This is a really great story. Loved the “some kind of very tidy hobo”.

  4. Jen says:

    My husband meeting my parents went fine, despite it being his first time abroad and that we were already engaged and my parents were flabbergasted.

    Me meeting my future inlaws, however, could not have gone worse. It involved public nudity, me alone in a car with his mother for 3 hours in a traffic jam, and his cackling grandmother urging me to wash my naked boyfriend’s back.

    Un.comfortable.

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