Last night I got to meet Tony’s parents. He’s met mine. We did dinner out with my Mom and step-Dad followed by a night at the fair (and a rodeo) a bit later, and dinner with my Dad and step-Mom. He met my grandma when my band was playing at the State Fair last weekend. I’ve met his sister (twice), her boyfriend, and a cousin during a very fun day/ evening. His parents were on vacation during some of that time, but this week we set a time for dinner. At their house. Where Tony and I would cook.
I was really excited and glad to get to meet them. I was also kind of a nervous wreck. I left work early so that I could swing by my place, pick up more clothes (not content with the original selection I brought), and go to Tony’s house to shower and get ready. By the time he got there after swinging by to pick up the steaks for dinner, I was mostly done. I was freshly scrubbed and plucked with minty breath. My hair was dried and straightened with a big round brush. I had on the perfect amount of make-up that made me look fresh, rosy, and bright-eyed. I had on a touch of jewelry (earrings and my watch). I had my shoes and jacket picked out and standing by to be put on. I appeared fairly calm and confident. For all he could tell I only changed once before we left (just switching for a different shirt).
In reality, I had already tried on what seems like 100 outfits. It wasn’t quite that many, but I got started at lunch. I was having a hard time finding something that was not too casual, not too dressy, not too formal, etc. that I could cook in without looking awkward or like a sloppy mess. It’s funny how on days when I don’t try or even care I can put together a killer outfit, but when it’s something important I can’t seem to find a damn thing that looks halfway decent. I tried on several dresses (which I discarded as not practical with three dogs in the house and cooking to do), jeans (which I decided weren’t quite right), countless tops and bottoms, and something like 5 different pair of shoes before settling on an outfit that was comfortable but probably still a little too much (dress slacks, a printed top with 3/4 length sleeves, and boots).
Outside I looked okay. Not spectacular, but definitely passable. I think I even did a pretty good job of hiding my nerves. In theory. I actually reached out to several friends and my Mom throughout the day for reassurance. In fact, there was a whole pep-talk going on in my head. It went something like this: ”I’m sure that they’ll like me just fine. I’m sweet and smart and kinda funny. I know how to talk to people, I’m pretty engaging, and I don’t think I’ll say anything offensive. Plus, I really love their son.”
In my heart, I didn’t think that they would hate me or anything. But he’s a really special guy, and he’s close to his parents. I knew they’d be evaluating me to see if I’m good enough for their baby, at least on some level. I’ve also never done the whole “meet the parents” thing. It was completely new to me, so I had nothing to base it on. The real reason I was nervous, though, is that he’s very important to me, and I wanted to make a good first impression.
In the end, I don’t think I did anything stupid. I met his parents, who are incredibly sweet, their adorable dogs, and his youngest brother. We cooked an amazing dinner, had good conversations, and it was very comfortable. I didn’t feel awkward in the least. It actually felt more like it could have been the 100th time I’d been over there, and I was just part of the gang. It was wonderful, and I’m still floating a little.
When I found this picture today, I had to laugh, though. I had something similar float through my mind (not about his nipples). And I did much more than that when we got home.