Yeah. So. I don’t really have a cute cynical title for this one…mainly because….I am not feeling so cynical. I am not quite sure what is happening to me. Or why it is happening, but it is as if there is this warped sense of emotional bliss clouding my better judgment.
As this post does not need to be hours long….and information does not need to be verbally purged…here it is. Mr. Grey. met. my. parents. on Sunday, March 15th. You know, the day after the lady bug incident. The day after I realized I had a dark dirty secret.
I am in love.
Prior to yesterday, to that moment, knowing he was coming over on Sunday was just unnerving. Mainly because if you check back to see my post about my parents inability to prevent themselves from judging everyone down to if they are wearing a hat. And not that they are judgmental people, I mean they are, but not that this would bother me ordinarily. Ordinarily I would not care…however, they have never. In my life. Approved of a man I was in love with. I am in love. This is horrible.
On a more serious note. Mr. Grey, the person I just fell for, was meeting my parents. Leading up to this event I was nasty, unhelpful, disappointed because I was certain my parents would find something wrong with him, and had no tolerance for anyone or anything. I actually wasn’t home for the majority of the day because I wanted to remove myself from my parents site. I asked my mom to watch my daughter so that I wouldn’t cause her to have a flipping heart attack due to my anxiety. Because, prior to last night, I didn’t really think much of Mr. Grey meeting my parents. I mean, he has met them before…so let me explain.
As an Italian-American, Sunday nights sort of become tradition to eat pasta, relax, and debrief before the work week starts again. I was never allowed to work on a Sunday, never allowed to eat-out on a Sunday, never allowed to miss dinner on a Sunday. See the theme? Sunday was our day to spend with our family. With my family.
The reason for Mr. Grey coming over on a Sunday was due to him needing my father’s accounting expertise. During tax season, the only time my father comes out of his tax-riddled cave, is on Sunday, to eat dinner. Knowing my dad would be well fed, have had a few glasses of wine, I thought, no better time than now for him to do Mr. Grey’s taxes.
My mom made a Paleo-friendly meal…chili, with the works. I made cornbread (not that Mr. Grey had it, or I did because I ran out of oil and had to use coconut oil so it tasted, well, like cake!). My daughter sat politely at the table and ate her food. My parents told no embarrassing stories of me. They smiled, laughed, conversed appropriately, and repeat. When my daughter was done eating, she excused herself, went in to the other room, and fell asleep (long day!??!!). Assuming Mr. Grey would use that as his exit strategy, he went with my father in to his office to do the taxes…then returned. To sit in the recliner next to me….to at one point, hold out his hand for me to take….physical affection? Did we do this? Did we actually now hold hands? In public? On purpose!?
He stuck around until almost 9PM….late for him on a Monday.
We all left together. He waited with my mom in the foyer talking nonsense, while I gathered my daughter’s things. He helped me put everything in the car. He thanked my parents for dinner, my dad for his help, and smiled at me while he walked to his car as I was strapping my daughter in.
What I didn’t do, was call my parents and ask what they thought of him. The reason? Because at this point, I have fallen so hard, that if they don’t like him I would more than likely not care. Which is big for me. Real big. Real big Joe Jackson.
So, I repeat….with sheer desperation. What. Happened?
[3/29/2015]