Remember dinner at His Mother’s on Tuesday? The dinner where it was revealed that Michael and I live together? I had been anticipating the fury of his mother ever since that night. And when it didn’t come I figured that although she wasn’t happy, she was going to deal with it and not say anything.

I was right. She didn’t say anything. His grandmother, however, did.

Saturday afternoon I was sitting on the couch, my hair still damp from my post-gym shower, watching the finale of I Love New York. I was almost at the end and was excited to see it since I missed it when it originally aired.

I happened to look out the window and noticed that Grandma’s car was in the driveway. Michael and a friend were working on the shed in the yard so I figured she had stopped by to see him and was now chatting. I was wrong. This woman was on a mission: ME.

The first words out of her mouth after exchanging the usual pleasantries were “did you set a date?”

“For what, Grandma?” I said.

“For your wedding,” she replied, astonished that I seemed so aloof. As I explained to her that we were not yet engaged she said, “well maybe you shouldn’t have moved in.” And there it was. Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?

The rest of the conversation resulted in these gems:

  • I should really consider a small wedding. Perhaps 20 people in the backyard. When told that my dream wedding was more elegant/fun/150 people and not a down home bar-b-q, I was told that in that case, it should really be local so people don’t have to drive far.
  • And also, could we please get married before she goes back to Florida?
  • And have we discussed how long we’ll wait before having kids? Because she’d really like to have great-grandchildren before she dies.
  • And I shouldn’t worry about the dog hair right now (it’s spring, he’s blowing his coat and no matter how much I vacuum right now it’s just impossible to keep up on) because once I get married I will learn how to be domestic.
  • And apparently, it’s not that his mother doesn’t like me, it’s just that she thought she raised Michael better and taught him to follow the teachings of God. After dinner on Tuesday “she just cried and cried and prayed for your souls.” She just wants to save your soul, that’s all. She loves you.

The hour long conversation left me in tears from frustration and in the same whirlwind fashion she arrived, she was gone. Leaving me sitting on the couch, bewildered and feeling like I just got hit by a truck. Michael, who had walked in on the tale end of the tears was pissed. How dare she show up to ambush me and play the middle man. And all of the above? NONE OF HER BUSINESS.

I sat on the couch nursing a glass of wine (with now frizzy hair) when my phone rang. It was Jen, who in the nick of time had called to ask me to go to dinner. I seriously needed it. Later that evening I picked at my food, hunger having been replaced by an anxious feeling in my stomach that has remained there until today. Because oh yeah, His Mother left a message on his phone for him to call her. AND for me to call her. Because apparently she wants to chat now.

If you don’t hear from me for awhile it’s because we’ve packed up the house, changed our numbers and relocated to a remote island where the daiquiris are always flowing and the mother and grandmother are just a distant memory. I’ll send postcards.

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