November 27, 2009

• quick story

  Happy Thanksgiving (a day late) — I went to my sister’s and spent it with her family and a bunch of their doctor-type friends (and learned more than I ever thought I would about circumcisions). My brother-in-law is an excellent cook, and my sister follows in my mother’s footsteps when calculating how much food is necessary to properly feed her guests, so I was able to bring a few slices of prime rib, some turkey, and all of the fixings back with me. Superman went to his family’s place in Boston, and I’m picking him up from the airport tonight.

  I met a couple of friends for lunch in the city today, and now I’m in the office (which is a total ghost town) for a few hours, trying to sneak some work in to get caught up before the frenzy picks up again next week.

  Anyways, I just wanted to tell this story to you, since I’ve been telling it to everyone else.

  My parents have lived in the States for a little over 40 years now. Their English is very good, but they still get tripped up by some vocabulary, grammar, or spelling issues, which can cause for some confusion and hilarity from time to time.

  Most recently, last weekend, my parents were in town on their way back from a trip to China, and they had my sister’s family, me, and Superman over for dinner. My parents really like Superman, and go to great lengths to make it clear to both me and him that they heartily approve of our relationship. Sometimes, those lengths are unintentionally great.

  As we were all saying our goodbyes for the evenings, I was putting on my shoes, and my mom was having a quick goodbye chat with Superman, saying all the standard “Thank you for coming, it was great to see you, I wish we had had longer to hang out” type things. Then, she said, “Oh, it was so busy, and we weren’t sitting together at dinner, so I didn’t get a chance to grind you.” Superman desperately tried to keep a straight face while I snorted at my shoes. We think she meant “grill,” not “grind,” and that she was trying to be funny, as in, “Oh if we’d had more time, I would have grilled you and given you the third degree,” rather than “Man, I wanted to get all skanky on the dance floor with you.”

  While my mom was unintentionally macking on my boyfriend, my dad was saying goodbye to Superman’s dog. Part of my strategy the first time I introduced Superman to my parents last year was to bring Superman’s dog, because I knew my dad would love him. Despite the fact that Superman’s dog spent the better part of two hours ferociously trying to hump another dog, my dad was completely smitten. My dad loves Superman’s dog, and loves him so much that he asks about him all the time. So this time, as he was saying goodbye to the dog, he was making standard doggie-chatter, “Who’s a good boy? You’re such a good boy! Good boy!” which then took an unexpected turn toward, “Do you want to come in me?” I’m assuming that he meant “home with,” and not “in.” I’m hoping so, anyways.

  Superman now jokes that I have the kinkiest parents in the world. After what my mom gave me a couple of Christmases ago, I can’t really argue otherwise.

  • 6:40 pm
  • 5 Comments