We are finally home, thank goodness.
Hello Brooklyn, the creative buzz and cool energy of New York City and our own comfortable apartment. Goodbye suburban dystopia.
Meeting my girlfriend’s family went well, considering.
Considering that her mother had our whole stay mapped out, chock full of activities and planned to the nth degree. That we stayed in her sister’s house that made me—quote literally—ill, and we were “captive” in some relative or another’s car for the entire trip from 11 a.m. to 9 p.m.
A few breakthroughs: Her mom said she wants a photo of the two of us to put on her fridge, and for us to appear with the mom and the sister and brother-in-law in a professional family photo. That the religious auntie who was not “supposed” to like me was the most loving, lively and hip chick in the family. She took my face in her hands, kissed me, said it was so great to meet me and she hoped I would keep coming back to visit. That the “second rate” cousins could (and did) relate to us on a different level because the wife had a gay brother who died early on of AIDS-related illness.
My gal’s sister had a blowout party the last night we were there and invited every lesbian—and suspected lesbian—she knows. So, it was quite the mix of Italian Catholic relatives, professional lesbians, a few family friends and the freewheeling artistic lesbians who are, of course, my gal and me.
A few things I will do differently next time: Book a hotel, rent a car, plan our/my own itinerary, bring more moisturizer and not forget my inhaler.
Next time, the game is on my terms—or at least on a level playing field. I’ve never liked being a captive audience or a show-and-tell project.