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Every party has a…

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See, I draw the line at including the word “pooper” in the title of this post. The body, apparently, is fair game. But please, let me elaborate…

We had a Super Bowl party yesterday, just as we’ve done the two previous years. Though the Evite response was a little more lukewarm than I hoped it would be, we still had plenty of friends over– enough to fill our living room and eat most of the (crazy amount of) food I made. And, of course, we invited my dad. He can always be counted on to bring the beer, and generally gets along with our friends, plus he always gets crazy excited about gatherings. He called about a week ago, asking if he could bring “a friend.” Thinking that it would be one of his work friends that I’d already met, I asked who, and was told that his guest would be “a female.” He confessed that he felt really awkward asking me in the first place, so I didn’t press him for more information…though maybe I should have.

When he and The Guest arrived, only one of our other friends (one I’ve known since 6th grade, so knows the sad tale of my parents’ divorce and my dad’s lack of love life for the last, oh…decade) was there. They got out of the car, and when I let them in it was immediately clear that she was a good bit younger than he is. Now, my dad isn’t the oldest of parents (next to GP’s, my parents are children) at 53, but the fact is that both of his children are in their 20s. The Guest appeared to be, at the oldest, in her early 30s. We found out later that she was 28, which (and sorry for the all-caps) IS HOW OLD GP IS. Let me repeat this: SHE IS AS OLD AS MY HUSBAND. AND APPEARS TO BE DATING MY FATHER. I love my dad and everything, but here is the thing: he isn’t wealthy (by any stretch of the imagination), he doesn’t really have any “game,” and he’s not that good-looking. Any attraction that she might have to him is a complete mystery to me. And she is cute! What on earth is going on?

But I was determined to be a good hostess. We welcomed The Guest into our home, introduced her to all the friends in attendance (including two who are, like her, from the Seattle area). And then, at some point, it became clear that she was aiming pretty pointed comments at one of our friends…one who she had previously seemed to be getting along with just fine.

Let’s have a pause to talk about the sense of humor that exists between me and GP, between us and our friends, and between us and my dad: we give each other a hard time. It is good-natured, and clearly so, and it is rare (nearly unprecedented) that someone actually takes us seriously. It seems practically impossible to me that anyone would think that they were being personally attacked by the jokes (jokes y’all!!) that we’re making.

Back to the story. It’s the third, maybe fourth quarter, of the game. There is shouting, cheering, heckling, what have you. The Guest is insisting that Peyton Manning is “her boyfriend,” (take a number, bitch) which means that, upon every Colts snap, she begins baby-talking. “Come on, honey! You can do it, baby!” Shit that’s funny the first, second, maybe the third time. But not, my friends, in the last ten minutes of the game. Our friend, J, says something to the effect of, “We get it, dude,” and is met with scattered comments from The Guest that J is “so negative.” Any comment that J makes is met with some little remark: “Of course you would say that.” (Which, what the fuck. You just met.) And then, finally, the huffiest of huffs: “You know, J, not everyone is a FEMINIST!”

Hold the phone. This thing came out of nowhere. Seriously. Also, you came here with my dad, who I have marched alongside in Washington, D.C. chanting, “This is what a feminist looks like.” Clearly someone’s signals have been crossed. Oh, also…my dad was out of the room at the time.

J, not being one to shy away from confrontation, turns and says that there is clearly an issue that The Guest has with her, and can they please just have it out and be done? And The Guest says– you guys are going to love this– “You couldn’t handle it.” Would it surprise you to know that, at this point, I wanted to drag her out of the room by her ear?

My dad and The Guest left about fifteen minutes later (shockingly, it felt like a fricking eternity), and that’s when the discussion began. What was that? Well, let’s give her the benefit of the doubt: it’s her first time meeting all these people, maybe she was nervous, maybe she had too much to drink, clearly she took something personally, maybe she doesn’t get out humor, etc. Allow me, however, to freak out a little. When you are meeting people for the first time– especially the child of someone you’re dating– don’t you want to make a good impression. If she is actually just a friend (though my dad described her to GP’s mom as a “special friend”), there is just no excuse for that. As for the “too much to drink” excuse…I don’t buy it. You’re a fucking adult. Keep your shit together.

I’m waiting for my dad to call and solicit feedback– it seems too terrible to call him and go, “Yeah, The Guest? We completely hated her.” And of course, when he does ask, I will be honest and tactful. Because, though I am two years younger than The Guest, I know the value of adult communication. Short of a pretty intense apology (because you do not come in to my house and act incredibly rude to my friends), I have no desire to give The Guest a second chance.

Thanks for making it all the way through this rant, if you actually did. Now, tell me, am I being a total crazypants? Or do you think I’m right to want to slap The Guest right across her bony little face?


About Megan

I read, I write, I drink wine while watching way too much tv. Let's be friends.

3 responses »

  1. You are definitely not crazy. I'd be upset if anyone acted like that, and especially if it were my father's much-younger girlfriend at our first meeting. Very strange.

  2. That whole situation is NOT okay on like 8 different levels. You are totally not crazy.

  3. Pingback: Thomas Keller Oreos with peanut butter ganache « You Don't Win Friends With Salad

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