I started dating a guy around Halloween. Because he works a grown-up job, and I wait tables, we don't get to see each other very often, which is slightly burdensome. Over the Thanksgiving weekend, he was out of town, and my parents were in town. No big deal, he and I talked on the phone a couple of times, my folks and I hung out, everything was kosher.
He came back into town that Saturday night, and the plan was for him to meet my folks Sunday. This was a twofold plan, because it allowed us to see each other that weekend, and I adore my parents.
Let's take a step back, before I continue this story.
My parents and I get along. We almost always have. We never went through that stage were a kid hates their folks. I mean, my teenage years weren't perfect, and of course we had issues. But they were never ever bad. And really, compared to some things my friends went through, my life has been a cakewalk where family is concerned. My parents and I talk, joke, and generally get along amazingly well. We irritate each other occasionally, but we are human and we are related, so it's inevitable, especially since I embody a little bit of both of them. It's normally what is common about us that irritates us, although I'm just realizing that as I'm typing this.
Anyway. I tried to explain to my guy that my folks and I have a really great relationship, because some people aren't prepared for that. When he came to the house that Sunday, we decided the easiest thing to do was walk down the street to the diner and have brunch. We got a table, ordered our food, and chatted away.
As we were all finishing our meals, my mom had a large quantity of pancakes left, and offered them to my dad. Funny, because (hi, mom!) she sometimes complains that my dad is a little on the larger side than he should be, and then she gives him pancakes from her plate slathered in butter and syrup. But whatever! It was a holiday weekend!
Dad takes a small portion of the pancakes, as he's sitting to her right. I was sitting across the table from her, and I reached across to take some with my fork. The pancakes were really good, so pops and I started divvying them up. Kind of. In reality, we started fork-fighting over them, including me stealing some from his plate, and cackling about it, and a small tiff, with me sitting across the table jabbing my fork onto my mother's plate and my dad trying to fend me off. I then accused my father of stealing tomatoes from my restaurant salads for most of my life- an accusation that is true, by the way- and we continued whatever conversation had been going on prior to the Great Pancake Battle of 2010. (It cannot be a war, as my father and I have this particular fight often when out to eat. Or sometimes at home. The War of Food Theft Aggression is going on 30+ years [I have to assume he let me have my baby food back in the day, but I don't count on it] and we're no closer to declaring a victor. But he better hope when he's old and decrepit there are more than tomatoes on his plates if I'm around.)
I was struck, following the food fight, that the guy (who is going to require a better moniker than that soon) might think this was something we did to be cute. You know, showing off our wonderful family ways, and how well we get along. But whatever! I thought I'd explain it to him later.
When we got back to my house, we sat around chatting for a little while, before my dad decided he really wanted to go see things in Bmore. But before that, we were talking about movie stars.
My dad used to work at a large university hospital system, as a float. That is, he was assigned different offices and different duties as other people took vacations or were out sick. He worked with a LOT of women, with whom he had little in common. They were mostly nice, and he got along with them, but we're not talking about folks with an appetite for knowledge or reading.
Sitting in my living room, talking to my mom, me, and the guy I've been dating for about six weeks, my father tells this story:
One day, dad and some women were talking about their favorite movie stars. The conversation came around to my dad and they asked who his favorite actress was. My father replies, with a straight face, that it's Jenna Jameson.
Jenna Jameson
(For those of you who know who she is, the link is 100% safe and from wikipedia. For those of you who don't know, just that warning should indicate what kind of actress she is.)
We are perhaps 1.5 hours into meeting my parents, and the conversation has turned to porn stars.
My father then brings up Ron Jeremy. I don't remember how, something along the lines of "well, at least I didn't say my favorite actor was the Hedgehog!"
BUT THEN! My guy, sitting next to me on the couch, looks at me and says he doesn't know who Jenna Jameson is. I look at him. In this moment, I could praise him for claiming not to know who a particular porn star is. It is possible he was saying this to look better to my folks (never mind the fact that they're the ones who brought this up.) Except the look on his face was 100% believable. He really had no idea who JJ was/is. My reaction could have been a quiet explanation that she's an adult film star (which he had worked out from the Ron Jeremy comments...he HAD heard of him.) I could have moved the conversation to safer topics.
Instead, I said this:
How the hell do you not know who Jenna Jameson is?! She's, like, the most famous porn star ever!
I would qualify my tone as indignant, to say the least.
Then the conversation turned to Traci Lords.
Then we took my dad to see a statue of Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson.
The end.