the thing about meeting your SO’s family is that you want to do it, but you really, really don’t want to do it. i mean, you do. but you’d rather not.

clear enough for you?

i’m supposed to up and fly to maine next month for matt’s sister’s wedding. there i will meet everyone in the whole fam damily and then some. at the same time. in fact, his parents are picking us up at the airport for a two hour drive to the hotel. two hours. i’m to sit in the back seat of a car in which his father is driving for two hours and pretend i’m not having cardiac arrest. should be easy enough to pull off i should think. “ohno, i always breathe like this. and turn purple. it’s a car thing.”

the things that go through your head. will they like me? will they hate me? will they encourage him to immediately if not sooner ditch me for that baglady we just passed a block and a half ago? she couldn’t be any worse than what you have now!

the deal is that Getting the Guy is only the beginning. once you’ve secured your place in his heart and he swears undying love and devotion to you, you’d think you’d be able to breathe a sigh of relief and do that thing in which people Live Happily Ever After. but oh no. you’d be wrong. that’s just phase one of Operation: Living Hell. because as soon as all that love and devotion stuff is established and become routine, you get to go to Phase Two. Phase Two is the “meet the parents” part of the Operation. and siblings. and granny. and third cousin twice removed on either side.

not to mention the best friend. is it weird that i’m more freaked out about meeting the best friend than i am about meeting the family? i don’t know. i think there’s potential for disaster there. if the family doesn’t like you, you still have a chance. cause a lot of people will be all like, “i don’t care what my family says! you’re not a filthy whore from the wrong side of the tracks! i love you, dammit!” just because it’s romantic and rebellious and satisfying to stick it to mom and dad after 18 years of making you clean your plate. but one should never fuck with the best friend. o yes, i know the order of operations that says, “Bros before Hos!” — i am completely familiar with it. if you’re in your thirties and you’ve been friends with someone since you both exited the womb, chances are you like that person and value his input on things like the girl you bring home to mom and dad. especially if you’re a card-carrying member of the male populace. women, not so much.

in my experience, women will do one of two things. they will either swear they love the guy even if they really don’t because they know what a battlefield relationships can be and they don’t want to impede another woman’s progress, or they will insist they hate him and you should lose the loser post haste. however, neither one of these outcomes matter, really. because if the relationship should end, the womanfriend who said she loved the guy will be all like, “that’s good, honey. it’s for the best really. he was a loser.” thereby ensuring you can never trust her judgment or propensity for honesty ever again. and if she swears she hates him from the get-go you fall back on the WomanFriend Law #213 which states, “she’s just jealous cause i got me a man!” thereby negating all her negative feedback on your relationship. jealousy, we figure, is thicker than friendship and can cause all kinds of mayhem.

not true with men. if the best friend should look at him questioningly and say things like, “her? she’s the one? are you sure?” then it’s all over. the end is nigh. your SO will start looking at you through different eyes. not those eyes that burned with devotion, love and lust. no. eyes that are now seeing you the way the best friend sees you. eyes that now question his choice in female companions. eyes that can quite often become murderous if the situation calls for it. eyes that scream, “o. my. god. he’s right! what did i ever see in her? BROS BEFORE HOS FOREVERRRRR!” and the next thing you know you’re in the middle of the funky chicken at the reception when he leans over and whispers in your ear, “hey. i’m inviting danielle, my sister’s hot friend from college, back to our room tonight after this is over. can you make yourself scarce awhile? oh. and also, you’ll need to find a new ride back to the airport. i’m staying a few extra months and my parents are all for it and they don’t want to give you a ride back because. well, you know. aaawwwkwaard” and like that. it’s over. and you can’t argue. you can’t stomp your feet and cry. all you can do is say, “yeah. i saw this comin’. the best friend hates me. i’ll go sleep under a bridge tonight so as not to disturb you and danielle. or maybe i’ll just get my things and starting walking to the airport now. if i walk all night i might be able to make it by the time my flight leaves” and he’ll be all like, “okay. cool.”

so what? me worry? not a bit of it. i’m just going to start taking xanax now so enough of it will build up in my system by the wedding that getting hit by a freight train hauling ass won’t even phase me. it’ll be fine.