They’re coming. I may need blood pressure meds.
Nothing against my in-laws. They’re good people. It’s the pressure that anyone experiences when they want to impress people with the life they’ve created. These folks did not pick me: Their only son did. And now they’re stuck with me. And I’m loud, I eat a lot and I’m a democrat, for goodness sake. I can only imagine what went through their minds when they, loyal Texans that they are, were told they’d be in-lawed to a California girl named Summer. They probably saw visions of choking down Tofurkey for Thanksgiving.
I like meat and they have a good sense of humor, so it all worked out. Still, when they come to visit I have a burning need to present a warm, loving and IMPECCABLE home. You know, superb entertainment, delicious home-cooked meals, a wife in her petticoat, skirt and bleached-white apron. It’s a disease, okay? I don’t actually want to be that woman, I just want them to perceive me that way so that they feel their son is in good hands.
It won’t go down the way I plan. It never does. We’ll order pizza tonight. I’ll realize we’re out of napkins and give them paper towels. Sally will wipe peanut butter on my jeans. I won’t be able to find any one set of towels that match. And they probably don’t care. But I’ll still stress.
It’s getting better, though. Now I have the comfort of my own genetic tie to these people. They HAVE to love me no matter what I do. When I ruin the spaghetti sauce or get us lost in my own town, I can simply grab Sally and hold her above my head like the Lion King. I have produced a grandchild! I’m here to stay.