Encounters of the Uncomfortable Kind
First, the random business: A male friend of mine asked me last week if my boobs had grown. Now I'm no doctor, but as I haven't had a growth spurt of any kind in well, ever, I find it unlikely that my girls took it upon themselves to burst forth. I did, however, think it was a nice way to point out that he was looking at my rack, but was attempting to bring them into the conversation so they wouldn't feel left out.
It's the little things.
Now, onto the big stuff.
Ever wish something would happen, and then as soon as it does, wish you'd never wished it? (Ever think you'd use the word "wish" three times in one sentence?) Well, this weekend my parents met my boyfriend.
As soon as I agreed to the dinner, I got heart palpitations. In fact, he and I spent about ten minutes feeling each other's heart and saying, "Whoa, is it supposed to beat that fast? No, seriously, feel my heart now."
And as happy as I was that my parents were willing to take the first step in meeting someone that is very important to me, I knew there was a long way to go. I also knew I had a bad feeling about the situation when I started thinking about stand-ins for Elon. We considered renting an incredibly rude orthodox Jew for the night. Or maybe a lesbian just to spice things up (she’d of course, be a nice, Jewish lesbian). You know, so they could be traumatized enough that they realized me having a nice, considerate boyfriend by my side from a different background isn’t such a bad thing when faced with the alternatives (not that I have anything against orthodox Jews or lesbians).
So we went out to dinner. And I can't think of any situation that I've been in that has been quite as uncomfortable. My parents barely made eye contact with him and hardly addressed him at all. He was obviously uncomfortable and is shy, so I think it took everything he had not to retreat to safety under the table.
One of our only saving graces was the fact that there was a bachlorette party taking place in the other room. Whenever there was an uncomfortable silence at our table, the "woo hoo!" coming from the ladies in the other room as their stripper arrived added the comedic content we so sorely needed.
In the end, I'm just glad it's done, because getting them to meet him was the first hurdle. But in other ways it's kind of sad. My parents were far from the sweet, caring, warm people that I know. And Elon was so nervous that they couldn't see how charming, and intelligent and wonderful he is. So in the end, they're still strangers, except now they're strangers who have met once and aren't looking forward to the next encounter. And I still love them both.
If the dinner had been a sitcom, the stripper from the bachlorette party would have bound into the front room of the restaurant, started shaking his moneymaker, and grabbed me or my mother and made us part of the show. And we would have laughed and laughed.
Sometimes I wish my life was more like a sitcom. Then again, sitcoms have uncomfortable moments, too, so maybe this is just one moment on the way to a happy ending (not the massage kind, of course). Or at least, one we all can live with.