Dreamland

I've been thinking about football a lot lately. Maybe it's because the Super Bowl is in 72 hours.There's a lot of different things to say about football. In Texas it's religion.



I wonder what it would be like to meet someones parents. I'd imagine it go a little something like this:

I'm lying in bed with the dog. I'm watching Seventh Heaven. I hear my mom talking in the kitchen and roll over and grab my phone. The last person I texted was Tyler. Our last texts were finalizing plans for tonight and instead of responding "Ok" I saved my response for later for the "What Should I Wear" and the "Leaving Now" text. One of which I am sure I will send and even though we've been together for three months, I still don't believe in the religion of double texting. The ever dominant numbers on my phone ready 5:35. I mumble Efff, under my breath. I quickly throw back the cover and hug my mom and run upstairs. I have to be at his house by seven. I have a 20 minute drive and I still have to get ready. My makeup from today has faded and what's left has set into to my face where it clings to the pimples and dry patches I so desperately tried to conceal earlier in the morning. My eye make up has formed little rings around the creases of my eyes and what was once a precise line is now blurred and smuged. I quickly wash my face and perform my make up routine. I reach for my primer underneath the sink, the foundation in the drawer. I test my eyeshadows along my hand. Straightner. Mascara. Blush. A sprinkle of bronzer. Toothpaste a sprintz a perfume. I dance the same dance I have done a million times over. In a mere 45 minutes I manage to make myself presentable.

Now comes the hard part what to wear. I enlist the help of my mother. She has a son. She know's what she'd want to see the girl he is dating in. It's one of those rare May nights in Texas, you can almost taste summer, I can wear shorts if I want to, but I don't have to. My mom sits on my bed and even though I am twenty there's something comforting about having her basically pick out my clothes. A lot of people would suffocated or infringed upon, but I don't. I'm an individualist, a bird who can't be caged, but I also know that the days of being able to ask my mom on what to wear are numbered so I should treasure them. And so the wardrobe delimna ensues. I want to wear J Crew 3" shorts but is that too casual? But we're not going to restaurant only to their house to eat. But no, shorts are still deemed far too casual. Jeans would be okay but slipping into jeans from my yoga pants seems stiffling. I decide to take the ultimate all or nothing gamble for wardrobe when meeting the parents. I choose a dress one of those floral Anthropologie dresses that have a wispy springy sense to them and make you want to take black and white pictures and listen to Mumford and Sons. The dress shows that I lost 40 pounds. I look in the mirror and my critical mind races.

I hope I don't look too skinny. My collar bones look good. If his parents hate me and least at least Tyler will get to see him in a dress. And I know he enjoys that.

I know I'm slightly overdressing but what this outfit is trying to say is "Yes I know, my green eyes and long brown hair are good enough for your son but you aren't so sure about me, I am scared and I really want you to like me and I am just quiet because I am nervous and I've never met any guys parents before and this is a really big deal to me too." I slip on my Miller 2 thongs and take a second to admire the perfect color selection of my toe nails. I hope his parents don't know what Tory Burch is. Nothing says responsible like blowing 220 plus tax on a pair of sandals.

I get into my car turn on music to Eli Young Band and roll down the windows. As I merge down the highway headed for the country and the soft scents of summer linger, I feel overwhelming sense of greatfulness to be experiencing this. Meeting his parents will surely be scary but I am thrilled to be able to do it.

I pull along the curb the best that I can it's not perfect but there is a visible effort to park like a normal person would and that's good enough for me. I shoot him "I'm here text" and I deeply resist the urge to call him. I want him to guide me through this, it would be so much easier if he did. But cowering behind my boyfriend isn't going to make the best impression so before I can get the "come inside" text i ring the door bell and hope for the best. My head races please by him. please be him, please be him. When the door opens him his mom stands there. "Emily I am so glad to finally, get to have you for dinner" and pulls me into a hug. She has short hair in a face framed bob. She's skinny too. She has wrinkles around the corners of her eyes that are noticable when she laughs. She has a pair of small dangly earrings on and red ankle pants on and a simple silver charm bracelet. The kind of lady who always goes to church on sunday, when she ran into someone she knew from a long time ago at a restaurant her boys would be behaving well and she'd be looking flawless. She hardly ever raised her voice even when her boys were younger, needier and more prone to chaos.  When Tyler was fived and intentionally squeezed an entire Go Gurt on the mini van seat she didn't lose it and scream and yell and pull over and then give a threat  "Just wait until your dad hears about this." She didn't cry raise her hands to the heavens and mutter under her breath that she should have. She slowed down a little, and in calm, rational voice said "Tyler I know your tired I know your hungry and I know you don't want to be dragged a long on anymore errands but we do not behave like that in this family and you know what you did was wrong and disrespectful to Mommy so when we get home you are going to time out." And Tyler looked up into his review mirror at his Mom and she gave him that look. That I am sassy and I am not going to lose my cool that mothers have. Tyler muttered I'm sorry Mommy. She put her hair behind her ears, smiled to herself and reached for the Burts bee lip balm from her purse and they went on with their day. She had a light hearted sense about her. The way she moved about life in a gracefully, loving way. I felt guilty for wanting to be more like her than my emotional, explosive mother who was always complaining about or mocking something. But I realized I was already for like her, that's why he asked me to be his girlfriend. He walked down the steps and his face lit up like those first few times we met each other. Maybe it's because he'd thought I'd run late. Or maybe he just liked the way my dress hugged my hips. But I think he was proud to see me standing in his kitchen. Not huddled in my car waiting for a text to tell me it was okay to come inside.