Word Perv

Over the weekend I pushed myself a little bit more than I should have. Saturday was my long run of 12 miles, then I walked an additional 6.5 miles and then I spent several hours in 4″ FMPs when I attended Casino Night.

The next day I did a 90 minute vinyasa yoga class, though I did take it easy and rested when needed, then I ran a 4.5 mile trail (though some of that was walked too) and then I walked Daisy an additional 4.5 miles.  As I finished running the trail I rubbed my back, turned to my friend David and said, “My back is really killing me.”

“Uh-oh, it’s been a while since you went to the ER, hasn’t it?”

“March, but usually it doesn’t happen this close together,” I said, referring to the spasms that attack my back so fiercely that only a trip to the emergency room and loosen their vise-grip on my muscles. Usually it happens to me about once a year, the last time being mid-March.

“This week isn’t good for me,” he said, laughing, “Can you hold off till next week?” David is one of my friends who’s on the hook to escort me to the ER should I need it.

I laughed in reply, “Sure, I’ll try.” I then headed home and cracked a beer, hopeful the alcohol would loosen my back.

A little bit later the Pilot called, inquiring of my day. I explained how my back was hurting quite terribly, but that I was hoping to ward off a trip to the hospital.

“You’ll call me if you need to go to the emergency room, right?” he asked. Before I could answer he continued, “Just because my mom is in town you had better not use that as an excuse to not call me. If you need to go I’ll take you. Don’t be a shithead and not call me,” he said, laughing.

“I won’t,” I replied, wondering what kind of impression I would make on a woman I’d never met if I called her son at 2am in need of a ride to the hospital.

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Say it,” he prompted.

“I promise not to be a shithead,” I replied, laughing as I did so.

He laughed and we chatted a bit more before hanging up the phone.

I ate dinner and finished a second beer only to then realize I can’t take muscle relaxers with alcohol. I texted a doctor friend to see if it would be okay, but he cautioned against it, stating the alcohol would likely render the medication useless. I sighed and crawled carefully into bed, hopeful I wouldn’t wake up in a few hours with piercing pain.

Thankfully, I slept through the night and when my alarm went off I was able to move without significant pain. Daisy and I did a 2 mile walk in the cool morning and my back felt okay – not great, but not terrible either. I left my gym bag at home on purpose, lest I be tempted to attend my usual Monday lunch-time weight lifting class.

Once at my office my cell phone beeped with a text message. It was from the Pilot and read: Had a dream last night you went to the ER without calling me. Were you an ER-visiting-without-calling-me shithead last night?

I laughed out loud when I read it and replied that I was not a shithead, that I’d made it through the night, that I was in some pain but surviving.

He replied that he was glad to hear all of those things, but since I was in pain I likely couldn’t cook that night and would I like to join he and his mom for dinner.

I damn near dropped my phone when I read it.

I’ve only just started calling him my boyfriend, and I don’t think either of us has had the balls to call one another a label in front of others, though on Thursday night Kristin called him my boyfriend and he didn’t so much as flinch, in fact, I think he smiled.

And now I’m meeting his mom.

Seems ridiculous to be nervous, but it’s been a while since I played the Meet the Parents game. Seven years to be exact.

So this new dinner invite lead to a flurry of emails and text messages to a group of girlfriends: Virginia, Janice, Tamera, Mel, Kirsten, Wendy and Tabitha – hey, a girl needs her posse for things like this.

I inquired as to what I should wear and what I should bring. I’d already been told dinner was under control and since I don’t know how much – or even if – his mom drinks I wasn’t sure I should show up with a bottle of wine. Was it okay to bring flowers? What should I wear?

I got immediate responses from my friends:

“Summer dress and flowers” from Wendy.

Mel wrote, “Wine and flowers will be perfect. If it is warm wear a sun dress. Nothing too short or showy.”

“Yes to flowers to score points. Nothing that shows too much boob. Nice but causal.” from Kirsten – leave it to my sister to point out that cleavage, while appropriate on a 3rd date, is not appropriate when meeting the mom.

“I would totally bring wine but make sure she drinks first. We don’t want her thinking you’re a lush! ” from Tamera, with the follow-up message of “No hooker heels…”

Virginia wrote, “First, deep breaths… As far as clothes, conservative but cute in a class way of course… Little to no cleavage but don’t look matronly either. (As if you ever do.) You want her to know you’re smokin’ hot but not in a Sharon Stone sort of way, ya know. Low key. That’s my advice. And breathe…”

So with this guidance I finally settled on the following outfit: fitted polo shirt (no popped collar though, I’m no Orange Girl or any variation there of!) with denim skirt and flip-flops and flowers. Since she’s actually cooking the meal I thought it appropriate to bring flowers as a thank you. I opted not to bring wine as the Pilot told me I didn’t need to bring anything. I did, however, down a glass before heading over.

And just how did dinner and the first meeting of my boyfriend’s mom go? You’re going to have to wait a day to read about that dear friends!