Meet the Parents

Otherwise known as... A Guest Shouldn't Have to Do Heavy Lifting

On Friday afternoon I spent some time at my parents' house before meeting GDA at his place to help him pack and get ready for his trip abroad.  As I was leaving my mom took me into the middle bedroom. 

Jen, we need this table moved.  Michael will be staying in here tomorrow night.  Michael is my dad's cool cousin who was spending Christmas with us along with his mother, my  great-Aunt Holly.  Michael lives on a land co-op in Tallahassee, and works for the Dept. of Environmental Protection.  He is very smart, and is one of my favorite people to be around.  I always say I'm going to come and visit and then I never take the time.  Maybe 2012 will be different.

The table in question is an antique writing desk that I bought at an estate sale in Nova Scotia while I was a grad student.  It had a prominent ink stain on the table top, and one of Dad's colleagues sanded the table down for me and restained it.  Yes, I know... for it to have retained any kind of value I needed to keep the table in its original state (I have been held prisoner while Dad watched the Antique Roadshow...) but I was more interested in having a nice-looking piece of furniture than an ink-stained writing desk.  The table had been returned and my folks were keeping it in a spare bedroom until I had a chance to move it to my storage unit.

Mom, I can't move the table by myself.  It's a solid piece of furniture.  The legs are removable, but still, the table top is a formidable challenge for my 5'2" frame.  I left my parents a bit distressed.  Mom had said that Michael could help me when he arrived on Christmas Eve, but I really didn't want a guest to have to deal with assisting with stored furniture removal. 

I knew what had to be done.

When I got to GDA's place, I looked at him.  Honey, I need your help. 

What is it?

I filled him in on the details.  Okay, I just need to shower and change.  There was absolutely no resistance, despite the fact that we had so much to do that evening and this task would eat up at least an hour of our time by the time we drove to my folks' place and back.  I'm gonna meet your parents?

Yeah, but it's not like we're going to sit down and have a meal with them... we're just going to go in, get the table, chat for a minute, and go.

Okay.  He's so easy-going. 

Because my parents live just ten minutes away and are welcome guests at my dinner parties, they have always been well-acquainted with my friends and the men in my life.  I called my mom and told her that I was on my way back over to move the table.  I didn't tell her who would be helping me.  I didn't intentionally not tell her, it was just a quick phone call giving her a heads up that I was on my way back over.

When we got to my folks' house, Mom met us at the door.

Mom, this is GDA. 

Oh-- it's so nice to meet you!  GDA kissed my mom on both cheeks.  We walked inside and I introduced him to my father, who is still healing from his hernia surgery and as such did not get up from the sofa.  We chatted for a minute, then tackled the table.  I was quite a sight in my three inch heels.  (For our last evening together before his trip, I was wearing the outfit I had on the first time we met.  I'm sappy that way.) 

We went back inside to say goodbye, and then walked out to my car.  GDA smiled.  Jen, I can tell they like me already. 

Of course they do!

Of course they do.  It was an appropriately quick meeting.  GDA and I haven't been together long enough to warrant a long get-to-know-you session with my parents, but I'm sure in time, we'll get there.  In the meantime, at least my folks can put a face to the name, and be thankful that I had another pair of hands to help me move the desk out of the bedroom so that Michael wouldn't have to.

Because a guest shouldn't have to do heavy lifting...