Guess Who's NOT Coming to Dinner?

It's been almost two months so I decided it was time to tell my mom about Sailor. In the past, I have gushed to her about my boys at the slightest hint of interest, but since I seem to cycle through them so, um, efficiently, it has seemed wiser lately to hold out on certain pieces of information until situations seem a bit more stable. It's all about message control, as the PR pros would say.

Some background on my mother: WASP upbringing, rebelled against her New England conservative parents in the 60s to be the quintessential anti-war protester, eloped with my dad in the early 70s, experienced progression of identities following that union from Vermont hippy to upper-middle class executive's wife throwing dinner parties on fine china and sterling, blah blah blah. There's no need to wonder where my love for luxury trappings, progressive political leanings and tendency towards mildly confusing bouts of rebellion comes from. Look no further, my friends.

Anway.

I have always maintained the suspicion that my mom's ideal partner for me would be somebody from a well-to-do family, with liberal politics, into literature and art, patient beyond belief, kind, good looking, and most likely from New England as well. Such a man does not exist by the way, I have looked. Since moving to DC I have disappointed her many a time by selecting short-term mates who meet few if any of these criteria. She seems to think that limousine liberals in vintage Brooks Brothers grow on trees here, and perhaps they do, but certainly not in the circles I roll in. After the Republican bartender I promised her my days of dating conservative boys were over (because surely politics is entirely to blame for inter-personal communication problems, right? right?) And I held to that promise for a whole two months. Of course, semi-vintage installments of HP will reflect my ambivalence towards involving myself with Sailor due to extreme cultural differences. So sue me, you see now what I had to work with and how that may have been a might confusing. Also note, that I haven't brooded over those differences in weeks.

So I told her about Sailor. That I am seeing a southern Republican who also just happens to be an commissioned military officer (something I have developed a ton of pride for, to be honest). That he drives a completely hot gas guzzling pickup, that he likes country music and calls me "girl." That he's kind and respectful and understanding and (mostly) treats me better than I have been treated by any boyfriend.

*crickets chirping*

Ma? You there?

Right, sorry. Could you repeat that?

I SAID blah, blah, blah, blah.

Ma: Sounds sort of creepy.

And there you have it. I'm sure she certainly doesn't begrudge me my happiness, but the current match up clearly does not fit Ma's picture of her ideal potential future son-in-law. Ironic considering that she eloped, and her mother certainly did not marry a man her parents approved of either.

Certain tendencies among the women in our family appear to be decidedly genetic.