I’m meeting Mr. Wonderful in Tampa, Florida this weekend. At his mom’s house. Yes, I’m meeting the woman who not only birthed a strong-calved, sexy-haired culmination of smarts, sweets, and stellar cooking abilities—but the woman who, I hope, will one day be my mother-in-law.
And here, during this first meeting, I’m going to be doing it in her house.
It’s so wrong. SO wrong. But poor, darling Mr. W has gone for almost 6 weeks without any love. So I’m really just cutting him a break. It’s not about me at all. I am pure and chaste. He’s the coital villain here, folks.
What’s most upsetting about this situation is that his mom has to be thinking there’s a possibility of this sort of action in her house. Or maybe she has some sort of mental mom force field that prohibits her from having these kinds of thoughts. I sure hope that’s the case.
When I graduated from college, I took a trip to the east coast with my boyfriend and his mom, and she told him she knew we’d had sex in the NY hotel room the three of us stayed in. I was mortified. Especially because we didn’t lay a finger on each other (no pun intended) during that part of the trip!
On a happier note, when Mr. W and I were discussing the weekend, our conversation went something like this:
Mr. W: I’m a little worried about it.
Me: Why?! I was on my best behavior in St. Louis with the rest of the family! You know you can trust me now!
Mr. W: I’m not worried about you.
Me: Well what do you think she’s going to do, embarrass you?
Mr. W: No, I’m afraid she’s going to write you into the will.
Here’s to hoping I inherit the family fortune, kids!