Zin and the Art of Home Maintenance

This may shock you, but my parents are very religious.

While we realize it may be revisionist history, Priscilla and I don't remember them always being this zealous.  I mean sure, we went to parochial school.  And church every Sunday.  And Sunday School.  So yes, basically Priscilla and I went to church 6 days a week...but our parents didn't.  And in fact, sometimes when we were in Sunday School, our parents went out to breakfast.  Heathens.

But at some point in the past 20 years, they got their God back on. 

Don't get me wrong, I have very strong faith... I just rarely reinforce it by attending a church service.  But Mom & Dad...well, they think worshipping Jesus in a sedate, structured and liturgical environment is the Bee's Knees.

(After my divorce, they tried to convince me that church would be a fabulous way for me to meet men.  I debunked this theory when I attended Christmas Eve services with them last year.  I mean come on, this is the most well-attended service of the year and I'm not kidding when I say that I was the only single person in the congregation.  Well, the only single heterosexual person.  Or sexual person.  And certainly I felt my red satin pencil skirt and stilettos had been wasted.)

And you know, honestly, good for them.  It clearly brings them tremendous joy and has taken them all over the world doing missionary work.  And they're in their 70's now.  It's a phenomenon that Priscilla and I refer to as "Cramming For the Final." 

Which is why it's so shocking that they very happily accepted our invitation to stay at The Boy's house while they are in Denver for the next two weekends.

They met him during our trip to Texas in June and adored him... so it's not that I thought they wouldn't want to spend time with him.  It's just, well, Derek and I will be sleeping in the same bed in another room under the same roof and for fuck's sake (literally), we're not married.

Okay, I realize you're thinking "Um, aren't you, like, 45 years old?"  And hot on the heels of that thought was a moment of clarity in which you realized I'm one hot ticket for a 45 year old two-time divorcee with congestive heart failure.  But we both digress.  Yes, I'm closing in on the big Five-Oh and you'd think my parents would realize I've had sex and likely want to have it again at some point... but still, this is a HUGE step.  For God's sake (literally), it's almost like condoning pre-marital sex.  And that's assuming that D and I even get to the marital part.

So tonight, we're cleaning.  Like two wild banshees, if banshees gave a shit at all about cleaning, which I'm guessing they don't cuz mostly they just scream.  And screaming isn't cleaning.

As you might guess, my idea of cleaning has something to do with consuming wine.  Tonight's selection was a little something that I, and the vineyard, distributor, and liquor store all like to call "7 Deadly Zins."  It's a nice Old Vine Red Zinfandel (in the event you, gasp, thought I was drinking white zinfandel, oh good God the horror) that runs about $16 per bottle at my local liquor store.

And this delightful Zin has me thinking on the text convo I had with The Boy yesterday evening, as I did a Target and Bed, Bath & Beyond run to prep his place for the impending arrival of the parental unit.

Andrea: What color is your guest room?


The Boy: Ummmm...teal? You know, greenish gray but also bluish gray?


Andrea: internal thought: How does he not know what color his guest room is?
Andrea: You're such a boy. Okay.
Andrea:  internal thought:  OMG, teal?  Seriously?  How can I find bedding that goes with TEAL?

The Boy:  Well, I guess it's "Sage."  Is that 'Queer Eye' enough for you?

Andrea:  internal thought:  Oh for fuck's sake.  Is it teal or is it sage?  I'm guessing we're going for beige bedding!  Also, how is that gay?

I was so wrapped up in picking the color of the bedding (I went with a buckskin-colored microsuede comforter bed-in-a-bag thing) that I didn't notice that the sheets in the set are a polyester/cotton blend.  So we'll be sweltering in our new bedding on a full-size futon with two Labs and the World's Worst Dog in a windowless basement bedroom that is, in fact, sage green... while my parents live it up in D's bedroom on a pillow-top California King with a window unit.  I'm really, REALLY a good daughter.  Not to mention The Boy's sacrifice...he's clearly caucasing for boyfriend of the year.  And now I'm giggling about the word "caucusing."  God bless wine.

And yes, a futon.  Man, I really hope I ace my finals this semester.

So, wish us luck this weekend.  I think something like "Godspeed" would be appropriate.

The proud parents with their questionably appropriate daughter on the Colorado Trail.