The first time I met her I was terrified. She traveled all the way to NYC from LA to see both of her sons and to attend the opening night of a Broadway play that A. had worked on. Dating A. for about 7 months, I knew I really, really liked him. That's a lie. I loved him. And so, by default of girlfriend-meets-the-mom, I was hoping to make a positive impression. The scary thing was that she was legendary in her awesomeness. Her sons adored her. This is a family that sticks together - Mom, Dad, Two Sons - they love each other deeply and they show it in their actions.
A., brother M., their Mom and I had dinner at Prune and I stayed relatively calm. No wrong moves as far as I can remember - snorting laughter through the nose, impropriety, ranting and waving of the arms, long and uncomfortable kissing of the boyfriend - none of these events are in my memory. Things seemed to go smoothly.
Score, future daughter in law.
At opening night of the Broadway play we attended the after party at the Time Warner Center - lots of room to wander around and gawk at the stars of the show as well as the occasional celebrity. A., M., their Mom and I set up camp at a table near a wax statue of Elton John - so lifelike! We laughed and chatted and ate tiny hor d'oeuvres from plates and drank champagne. A. and I commented how delicious the champagne was. Little did I realize it was topped with gin. Oh, maybe I did realize - maybe the nerves got to me, maybe it was not having had dinner yet, or maybe I was just having a delightful time; but clearly, your trusty blogger got, shall we say, bitten by the party fairy. I was neither belligerent nor loud nor improper, I just became very, very tired. From what I can remember, we walked over to Carnegie Deli for a meal (finally), and I promptly fell asleep in A.'s lap. We were sitting at a booth, so for all intents and purposes I disappeared under the table for the duration of the meal. When it was then time to leave, I remember A. waking me up. As I raised myself from the dead (read, drunk), I stood up, lost my balance, and proceeded to knock my head into the numerous framed photos of celebrities that line the walls.
Strike, future daughter in law.
I woke up the next morning, mortified. I nervously talked it out with A., afraid I had made a complete ass of myself in front of his mother, afraid I had just ruined my chances at ever seeing him again and that perhaps leaving New York was my best option. He assured me no, his mother was not a prude, she lived in Boston in the 60s, remember, and surely this was not grounds for a breakup. Anyway, wasn't it kind of a funny unrehearsed pratfall? Great. I was entertainment.
Most of the time things are bigger and scarier in the mind than they need to be. What happened was pretty uneventful to everyone else but me. According to A., I passed the girlfriend-meets-mom test with flying colors, not that there was a test. I made that up in my head. Simply put, she liked me. I was alright by her son.
And now, she and I talk of the wedding plans here in California, blogging, politics, food, the metro, and family. And it's her birthday today. Happy Birthday Belle-Mere.
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