Living with a BOY! Yikes!!

With all this talk about my upcoming engagement (haven’t you heard all the buzz?! It’s everywhere!), it’s making me think. I mean, sure, the ring is going to be gorgeous, but it doesn’t end there, from what I hear. I mean, eventually, I’m going to have to live with this guy! And, that could get tricky!

I’ve never lived with a boy—well, except for my brother and a guy-like roommate. My brother was 12 when I left for college, so I don’t think my experience living with him will be the basis for any type of grown-up cohabitation. At the very least, hopefully there will fewer Legos all over the place. And, let’s talk about that one roommate: he had a bathroom completely decked out in cartoon ducky and froggy bath accessories. He also spooked easily. I’m pretty sure I scared him. Me! Sweet, little kitten! I’m really hoping my fiancé won’t share too many characteristics of his. Here’s crossing my fingers.

So, living with a boy… Seems frightening! There was a Sex In The City episode that one of my friends can quote in its entirety all about Secret Single Behavior. Those ladies were on to something! There are a few things I’m not sure a guy really wants to know about me, so here, let me share them on the internet instead, because that seems reasonable:

• I can spend hours staring at my face in a mirror, examining every pore, emerging wrinkle and hair follicle.
• I have almost as much make-up and beauty products as any medium-sized Sephora store. While this is no surprise to anyone who walks into my bathroom, I have a feeling it would be much less cute when my six different types of eye cream edge the lucky gentleman’s shaving cream right out of the medicine cabinet.
• Sometimes—gasp!—I like to sleep in full-butt underwear. Full. Butt. Underwear. Embarrassing! And, likely not sexy.
• I often have nothing in my refrigerator except eye masks and beauty peels.
• I don’t clean that often.
• I drink wine in the bathroom when I’m getting ready to go out sometimes. Ok, most of the time. (One time I knocked over the wine glass, shattering the glass and spilling red wine all over the toilet and shower curtain, which looked very, very horrific and wrong.)
• I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, irrationally convinced that something in my apartment is going to catch on fire and catch me off guard. Of course, this fear could be alleviated by buying a fire extinguisher to have on hand, but that just seems too simple.
• When left to my own devices, I sometimes eat the same thing every day for a week (let’s be real. I don’t know how to make all that many dishes!). And, you can count on whatever it is involving sour cream.
• I can spend hours playing spider solitaire.

So, there you have it. Landing the proposal is one thing. Getting the guy to stick around after we’ve moved in together might be another challenge all together!

Know what is *not* awkward?

Introducing your dad to your gynecologist.


I know, you’re thinking, “In what scenario would that even happen?!?!?!” Well, don’t worry; it didn’t go down as creepily as I suppose it could have.

My dad and I are ballet buddies. We have season tickets to the ballet series at the Kennedy Center, which means we see every ballet that comes through the venerable theater together. My dad is super into ballet since I was a very serious ballerina for a long time. He built sets for and stage managed many of my performances. He was eventually talked into performing in many of the performances in character roles such as Uncle Drosselmeyer in the Nutcracker and Dr. Coppelius in Coppelia. He started taking adult ballet classes. He even had these tight sweatpants he would wear to class. Those sweatpants weren’t so cute, though, 20 years later when he tried to bust them out with the family this past Christmas. We immediately sent him back upstairs to change.

All this is more interesting when you juxtapose it against his professional career. He was a green beret in Vietnam. He was one of the founding members of the Delta Force, on the team that established and got the Delta Force certified as a thing and then went in to Iran to get the hostages out in 1980 (right after I was born!), and he was paramilitary for the CIA. So, he’s kind of a badass. In tights.

Last night, we were at the Kennedy Center to see Billy Elliot, an add-on to our regular ballet series. As we’re walking into the magnificent grand foyer (where, if I had infinite amounts of money, I would have my wedding reception—after my already established engagement this year—because it’s so beautiful!), I spotted the good doctor. Now, I LOVE my doctor. He’s awesome, and I’ve been seeing him for more than ten years. Considering what a hypochondriac I am, that’s equated to about 1,000 visits with each other.

As the shout of his name was coming out of my mouth—in other words, too late—a couple thoughts went through my head:

• “Wait, outside of the exam room he probably goes by his first name, you know, like normal people. I’ve never used his first name with him! How weird is it that I’m shouting Dr.?!”
• "Uh, do doctors like to see patients socially?! Is this weird?!”
• “Who’s the crazy girl screaming in the Kennedy Center?!”

Oh well! It’s happening now, like so many of the act first, think about it later situations I get myself into! Introductions were made all around without actually acknowledging how we knew each other. I did keep calling the good doctor, “Dr. HisLastName,” though, so I’m pretty sure it was wildly apparent that we were not grab-a-beer-after-work buddies!

I also felt the need to make it very clear that this older gentleman I was with was my DAD and not my DATE. When you’re hanging out in the glittery theater set, one sees a quite a few May-December romances, and I’m apt to nip in the bud that impression from following us around whenever I can. I’ve considered making a button to wear that says, “This guy’s my dad!” Not only would that help clear some things up, but maybe it would also help my dad meet some nice theater-going ladies who think it’s sweet that he goes to the ballet with his kid!

Anyway, I’m not sure that knowing my gynecologist has met my dad is going to make my next appointment more comfortable for me or the good doctor! So, now there’s that…