And here I thought my advice would be something of a non sequitur …
When meeting an SO’s parents once, he told me “My mom has breast implants. But don’t ask her about them!”
On the off chance this applies to your situation, good advice to follow.
He had such a case of foot in mouth disease that the advice would not have been wasted on him, but I think I could have gotten by without it.
I did appreciate the heads up that family and friends were politically conservative (umm, yeah, to the right of Rush Limbaugh…) and that his sister was dating his stepbrother.
The first time I attended an event that involved my then SO’s extended family (on his dad’s side), I lost my top while riding a tube behind a boat and didn’t notice for a few minutes. So his whole family got to see me walking around topless for a minute or two. So no matter what happens, you can probably tell yourself it won’t be as bad as exposing yourself to them.
On the other hand, I was quite popular with some of his relatives for a long time after that. But for some reason I don’t think it would work as well for a man :). No matter now anymore for me though, we aren’t in contact with that side of the family anymore anyway. I am sure the story still gets told though.
I made sure to get a good briefing from her today regarding the general dynamics of the members of her family that will be there this weekend, and I am really glad I did. I can’t imagine going in without the info that she provided me with. And while I do not intend to bring up politics on my own, if it is brought up I have the luxury of knowing fairly well where her parents stand as her mother ran for Michigan senate twice on the Democratic ticket.
Thanks for that tale Velma, its nice to know that whatever happens I will be able to put it in a positive perspective now.
I once went to stay with the parents of a new boyfriend for a long weekend. We got there on Saturday afternoon, and I made it through dinner OK. Then we went to church on Sunday. I was feeling a little queasy, but clenched my teeth and made it through.
Then we went to brunch, with Mimosas. I had a couple of sips of mine, but not too much, because I was still feeling a little under the weather. And then, my boyfriend’s father insisted that I try a taste of his crabcake. I ate it, my gorge rose, and I bolted for the ladies’ room, knocking over my chair as I ran. The ladies’ room was up a flight of stairs, and I only made it to the landing before I threw up copiously. Then I ran the rest of the way there and threw up some more in the bathroom.
My boyfriend’s mother followed me, and held my head while I threw up, and gave her husband holy hell and made us leave the restaurant when I was done. I spent the rest of the long weekend in bed being brought chicken soup and saltines. For the next several years, that boyfriend’s parents adored me, and I think they were more upset than he was when we finally broke up.
