The summer a year before Joe and I were married (1997), I was damn determined not to go home. My folks weren't the type that were accepting of "boomerang" children. Or even "summer vacation" children. In fact, their exact words when I left for college were "take it with you when you go, don't expect it to be here when you get back". Ok, cue the warm and fuzzy!
So, that first summer, I was offered a position at my student aide office helping out with their summer programs. In return, they offered free room and grocery reimbursement. Plus, a pathetic hourly wage. Yes please! This also would allow Joe to unofficially reside with me in order to continue his off-campus employment. Win win!
I'll spare the details of that summer, though they're quite fun. They include lying bosses, unbelievable BS work requirements, haunted dorm rooms, no grocery reimbursement and a lack of air conditioning. However, they also include a lovely summer visit from my family.
Unfortunately, I kinda forgot to tell the family that Joe was living in my dorm room. This despite the fact that I had basically told them not to bother calling me at MY dorm room the entire previous year because they wouldn't reach me there - call me at Joe's number! See, my parents like to ignore the elephant in the room unless you yell "OMG THERE'S AN ELEPHANT!". And it steps on them. And poos on their carpet.
So that summer, they said they were coming on a specific weekend. Joe and I spent the week leading up to that visit trying to rid my room of any traces of his existence. His clothes, his books, his laptop, everything put away. Keep in mind, they never ASKED where he was living that summer, yet he know he was "up there" (since we went to school north of home).
You might imagine how awkward the situation was when my father took me aside and we had the following conversation:
Dad: So... are you and Joe living together?
Me: Umm, yeah. It didn't make sense for him to pay $500/mo in rent.
Dad: And are the two of you having sex?
Me: No. We're not.
Dad: I'm not an idiot. I don't approve and I'm disappointed in your choice. You know what I think about that.
Me: I said we're not but if you don't want to believe me and that's what you want to think, go for it.
Fast forward to a year later, a week before our wedding day:
Mom: Maybe it's time we had a talk about sex.
Me: Dad accused us a year ago, what's there to talk about?
Mom: Well, if you have any questions or there's anything you'd like me to explain.
Me: No thanks.
Seriously, a year ago, you're accusing us of getting it on. And now a week before the wedding you want to explain it to me? Maybe I should take the time to fill you all in on the fact that Joe and I did get married young. I was 20. The freaks my mother hired to deal with the kitchen at my reception refused to pour me wine cooler kinda stuff for the toast because I was underage and alcohol is from the devil. Also, because my mother was/is such an intolerable human being I lived with my grandmother the summer before the wedding - and had been on birth control for 2 months at that point.
And while Joe and I weren't the innocent young things, we were both technically still virgins on our wedding night. And actually beyond - because we didn't get to our hotel the night of our wedding until 5am the next morning.
Anyways, really, my mother, who had always made it a point to tell me the evils of sex and terrify me about it to the point that I *still* have some issues to this day, really wanted to sit down a week before my wedding to tell me about the birds and the bees. This after my father accused me of being active a year before.
And why, you may ask, did he question me about our co-habitation and nookie? I wasn't sure. In fact, the conversation floored me. Until I returned to my room that evening... And noticed a pair of Joe's underwear peeking out from under the corner of my bed. I'm sure it's the first - and only - thing my father noticed when he entered my room. And it stayed on his mind through lunch, through the afternoon at the aquarium, and until he could corner me alone.
I don't know if I have a point. But Sassy Britches tweeted about having "a" sex talk with her mother (vs "THE" sex talk) last week and it reminded me of my own sex talk. And I felt like sharing. Aren't you glad?
P.S. Reading this back now, I'm not exactly sure what I was thinking when I wrote it last night. I fixed a couple of obvious mistakes but I might as well leave it as is. You'll all still love me, right?