The First “Visit”

Marie:  Ok, great, we’ll see you in a little bit!  Bye!
Marie:  Hey, Sweetie, my mom is coming over to pick up that hedge cutting thing you borrowed.  Where is it?
Mark:  Your mom is coming here?
Marie:  Yes… is that going to be a problem?
Look on Mark’s Face:  Yes, a huge problem.
Mark:  No, I guess not…
Marie:  Did you think we could go the rest of our lives without them knowing where we lived?
Mark: No, I guess not… Well, let me get dressed and then we’ll start cleaning.  How long do we have until she is here?

Cleaning?  Why did we need to clean?  She was just coming to pick something up, we weren’t having a dinner party or anything.

Marie:  Why are we going to clean?  We don’t need to clean.  It’s just my mom.
Look on Mark’s Face:  Oh, Naive Married One, you have much to learn.
Mark:  I’ll run the vacuum.

She was just coming to pick something up.  And let’s pretend worst case scenario she does make it into the house, I was headed to a bachelorrette party that night and made a large, specially shaped (wink, wink)dessert for the evening.  And this large, specially shaped (wink, wink) chocolate cake was sitting on the stove in the kitchen.  My mother would not have time to complain about the never vacuumed floor, there was a large, specially-shaped(wink, wink) which would surely send her into cardiac arrest.  Yes, you read that right.  My plan for my mother’s first walk thru of my new home was phallic distraction.  Genius is an understatement.

Marie:  Sweetie, there is a large, wee wee cake in our kitchen.  I’m 100% sure she is not going to notice a messy living room…
(Roar of vacuum cleaner)
Mark:  I’m sorry!  I can’t hear you!  I’m cleaning!


About 15 minutes later my mom and sister are on our doorstep. 

Marie:  Hi, guys!  There is the hedge cutting thing that you needed…
Look on My Mom’s Face:  If you don’t let me in to have a look around your new home that you still have not formally invited me to, or even given me the address to, I will cry. Let. Me. In.
Marie:  Why don’t you guys come in real quick, and have a look around?
Mom:  Oh, well, sure, I think we have some time….

She literally shoves me out of the way and heads straight to the kitchen.  And then she just stands in the middle of it.  Looking.  Standing and looking with squinty, critical eyes.

I’ve been through all sorts of schooling.  I’ve presented a thesis to a panel of three very scary professors.  I’ve watched a tape of myself “do therapy” with the scariest man on earth.  I’ve taken many very important, life plan deciding standardized tests.  And never have I been as terrified as I was watching my mom scan my kitchen.

Mom:  So, do you not have a broom?

It sounds like a mean, passive-aggressive way to insinuate the floors weren’t clean, but it wasn’t.  It was an honest question, she really wanted to know if I had a broom.

Marie:  Well, of course we have a broom… I just haven’t cleaned yet.  I mean, Saturday is when I normally do the cleaning…
Mom:  It is Saturday.
Marie:  I know, but it is like 12:00 in the afternoon… I haven’t even been up all that long!
Mom:  I can clean this for you!  You know I’m on summer break, I don’t have that much to do, and you guys don’t live that far away… I could clean…
Marie:  Mom, you aren’t cleaning my house, it’s fine…

But it was useless, she was off.  She started pointing out the spot on the living room carpet that could use some serious wet vac action (“Do you know what a wet vac is?” she asked).  And the dusting that needed to be done to all the blinds.  And had we considered a pressure wash type cleaning of the deck, she offered those services, too, you know!

She would have kept going, too, but I finally interrupted…

MarieMOM!  Have you noticed the cake I made for Treena’s bachelorrette party?!?!

I had to get her to look at something, anything, other than my floor!

Mom:  Yeah, I noticed that…
Marie:  Heh, pretty cool, huh?
Mom:  Yeah, it’s big… what is it?

What is it?  Was she joking?  This must be part of her punishment for me not having a clean floor, feigning anatomical ignorance so that I would have to explain the wee-wee cake to her.

Marie:  It’s, um… I don’t know… an uh… First, what do you think it is?
Mom:  A bunny?

It did not look like a bunny.  It looked like

Marie:  A penis, Mom.  It’s a penis.

And then she had cardiac arrest.

I knew my plan would work….eventually.

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