As if the holidays weren’t stressful enough as it is.

“Your parents are going to be here for Christmas, right? What time are they arriving?”

This from Kevin over gchat one day.

Me: Sometime shortly after lunch, I guess. Why?
Him: My parents want to stop by and see the house before they go out to dinner.
Me: So this means our parents are going to meet? Plus your other relatives?
Him: Oh, yeah I guess so.
Me: So they’re just stopping by?
Him: Yeah, for a drink. Then I’ll go out to dinner with them.
Me: I don’t know about this. Are we ready for our parents to meet?

I must be on Santa’s “naughty” list this year.

I admit that I’m being more dramatic about this than necessary. Yes, we’re serious about each other. Yes, it’s probably OK for our parents to meet. But on Christmas Day? Yes, it would be fine. They’d say hello, have a jolly gin and next thing I know, they’d be inviting me and my parents along for their dinner out — or DUM DA DUM DUM – they’d end up staying to help eat the dinner I’m planning to cook for my parents.

It’s just too cheerfully Cleaver for me, ok? No, I’m not REALLY worried about it. But hey, why push these things any faster than necessary? Can’t they just meet over a our-kids-just-sealed-the-deal-meal to discuss who is paying for the photographer?

Kevin says he’s going to try to avoid it because he doesn’t like the idea either.

Now his parents are coming over for a  Friday cocktail to check out our new place, so they won’t have to stop by on Christmas.

Gee, that’s better. Now I have to clean the semi-unpacked house so they don’t think he live-in[sin] girlfriend is a slob or a bad housekeeper.

Are they selling alcohol-laced egg nog yet?