Published for Now Salt Lake on July 26th 2011
I decided it was time to take the next step in my relationship with Fancy Shirt Boy(friend), which means taking him to the country for the first time. This includes meeting my parents and grandparents. Poor guy had no idea what he had agreed to. I’m 35 years old and single, so of course my family is going to approve of any man I bring home; it’s the bonding I worry about. The last thing I need is my family liking my boyfriend more than they like me.
Weighing all the options, I decided taking him home for the Fourth of July weekend would be the most enjoyable. After all, there’s nothing more American than a small town celebration. Whoever came up with the idiom “more American than apple pie” was obviously a city kid. Pff. I hyped up the trip with promises of camping with my brothers, floating down the river on tractor tire tubes, getting up early for the Fourth of July parade and finally ending the day with the demolition derby and firework show.
My perfect plan was foiled by my goddamn allergies. As it turns out I’m allergic to everything but red wine and sarcasm. Sure, I’ve always had allergies but this year has been especially miserable and I knew there was no way I could survive an entire weekend in the country. Instead, we opted for taking a day trip to the country. While he didn’t get to experience country kid camping, he was able to spend a fair amount of time in the desert when we got lost looking for my brother’s camping spot so we could ride four-wheelers. I don’t think he was much impressed with my country girl skills, but I immediately made up for my indiscretion by taking him to lunch at my favorite country caf? and shopping. We don’t have a Nordstrom or even a Target. We do, however, have a killer clothing selection at the IFA. FSB(f) picked up a killer pearl snap shirt and probably a strain of Bovine virus, or whatever infectious disease you can pick up from farm animals. I am, of course, immune to all country diseases. We followed up with a T-shirt purchase at the grocery store and flip-flops from the Phillips 66 station.
My parents seemed to approve, as did my grandparents. They all fired questions at him left and right and my beloved grandmother let him know just how special to her I was. I would have melted with happiness, had I not been texting my younger brother to let him know I really was the favorite grandchild just as I had suspected.
It was a perfect day. FSB(f) not only survived, but he also had a great time. Or at least he had the good sense to pretend he did.
*To see a few pictures from the trip go here.