Oh, it’s been a fun few days, hasn’t it?!  AnyMommy announced her pregnancy, Mike shared the heartwarming story of when he brought his infant daughter to a bar, and now Marinka is going to talk to us about…well, I’ll let you see for yourself.  (But when you’re done here, remember to head over to Hot Mom Reviews…I’ve got a new review up with a GIVEAWAY!!!)

And I’m SO excited about getting to meet her tomorrow night that I can hardly contain myself.  I just won’t be EATING while we’re out. And rest assured that her mother will not be joining us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I always felt some anxiety about introducing the men that I dated to my parents. My parents are from the Old County, the Soviet Union, and while they are not old fashioned in the What are your intentions towards my daughter sense, they can be slightly eccentric. Like my father has the tendency to argue that heroin, crack and crystal meth should be legalized so that the users can get it at a reasonable rate. This will cut down on the crime rate, and if it should lead to an overdose or a million, well, he can’t be expected to solve all our social problems. My mother, on the other hand, has a deep dislike of dining out, which is fueled by being thrifty and the absolute conviction that restaurant employees ejaculate into every dish before serving it. Now that’s dedication to your job. I’m not sure how it started, but I can tell you that when a local superintendent was caught on camera entering a tenant’s apartment and masturbating into her Chinese food takeout, and the rest of New York City was vomiting sympathetically, my mother felt vindicated. Having the story appear on the 11 o’clock news was just icing on the cake. The kind of icing that comes with DNA, apparently.

As a result, when I met my pre-Husband, and it became obvious that he was going to meet my parents, I tried to prepare both sides.
“Please don’t say anything,” I begged my parents.
“Say what?” My father asked. “You are dating a non-Jew with a child from a previous relationship. What more is there to say?”

My mother was more tactful. “We are civilized people,” she reassured me. “We know how to behave in public. By the way, do you know that the ice you get in restaurants is just filthy frozen water? Really, you should let it melt sometime and see for yourself.”

“My parents’ English, she is not too good,” I warned pre-Husband, laying the groundwork for anything especially egregious to be blamed on “lost in translation.”
“Ok,” he said. Which is interesting because not once during the weeks when I fretted about our meeting each other’s parents did he mention that one side of his family were Jesus-loving, tongue talking fundamentalist evangelicals. Not that there is anything wrong with that, of course, and I know that in this country it can sometimes lead to high office, but a few weeks after he met my parents and I was mortified because my father went all neo-con on him, I was at a banquet hall for some future in-law’s wedding celebration and at one point everyone around our table leapt to their feet and started praising Jesus with their arms swinging over their heads. Not being fluent in tongue myself, I’m not sure what they were thanking Jesus for, but I can guarantee you that it wasn’t for all the delicious liquor that he provided for the reception, because, well, he didn’t. One of my future cousin-in-laws, seated at our table, caught my horrified eye and laughed, “Welcome to the family!” she chirped.

And suddenly? That low rent heroin that my father was suggesting didn’t sound that bad.

Wouldn’t it be great if this blog post ended with something pithy about how despite our families’ eccentricities, we’ve embraced everyone in a big family values hug and are living happily ever after? Why, yes, would be.

  • Share/Bookmark

Related posts:

  1. A Few Notes to the World at Large
  2. You Never Even Call Me by My Name- A Guest Blog
  3. Me(g)Me(g)
  4. My Stomach is in Knit Knots