By the time my plane lands my head is killing me. I am not sure if it is from the cheap airport wine, texting Town and Country, or the stress of meeting Dr. Froggy’s family, friends and boss. I actually do pretty okay with babies and aunties (and uncles if I am wearing a low-cut top). So I am hopeful his mother will like me.
I don’t know what US Airways policy is, but Northwest and Delta let you turn on your phone as soon as you are wheels down, so I do. Quickly I text Dr. Froggy and ask him to bring some Tylenol and water. He texts back to say no problem (tis nice to date a man of medicine) and that he is driving the BMW. I deplane and wait almost 15 minutes for him. When he does arrive he gives me a hug and is gentlemanly enough to toss my bag into the trunk.
I belt in, pop the meds and slam an eight-ounce bottle of Poland Spring. “How was your flight?” Dr. Froggy asks. “Fine,” I reply and study his profile. He’s not bad looking, and if he wasn’t so hefty I think his features would sharpen, rather than flatten. His head though, seems out of proportion to his body. It’s like he needed to be a few inches taller to balance out that head. I can completely relate to that. I need to buy petite jackets at Ann Taylor because I am missing a few inches in my torso. I do wear missy pants, but those have to be shortened. So maybe I am missing a few inches on both ends – wow imagine how different life would have been if I had been 5’-7"!
“Okay,” he says when he pulls into the Wal-Mart parking lot. “I need to get some cookies for the morning tea…” Ugh. Am I the only desi who drinks coffee? “I’ll wait in the car,” I say quickly. I’m from Minnesota where Target is king; it is sacrilegious for me to go in there.
He’s an expeditious shopper and returns quickly. As we drive along the winding road he points out restaurants he dines at and the gym where he’s a member but never attends. When we arrive at his gargantuan house my stomach drops a little. He was not joking, he did indeed fashion his house in the manner of low-brow Beverly Hills fame. Oh my – I absorbed LeCorbusier and Mondrian for four years. If my undergraduate architecture program director knew of this I think he’d demand I return my degree.
In the living room we find his mother, watching TV at top volume. Dr. Froggy grabs the remote control, hits mute. Auntie stands up; her smile accessorizes black pants and a cardigan. “Welcome beta, please sit down.” She ushers me onto the couch and sits next to me. Immediately, I know I will like her.