The British are coming…. The British are coming…. And they wanted to meet the parents of my Fairfield County, CT girlfriend. Her Mother in particular, who made no bones about her hatred of gays – I was the bull's-eye on the gay target for flipping her daughter to the dark side… not much love lost there.
Their intentions were honorable… My father conveniently forgot his own struggle through the coming out years and now just thought it "Ridiculous" that anyone should have a problem with the Gay Factor.
Famous last words as I recall them – came from his mouth, something like this…
"We can take care of this situation for you girls"
"We'll just have a couple of drinks, totally informal"
"They can relate to us"
"We have old heads on our shoulders"
"Once they see you have parents, they will feel differently"
"Everyone loves the British"
"You watch, this will be a piece of cake"
I was 21yrs old, skeptical but hopeful…. My girlfriend was 27yrs old and terrified out of her skin. We set up the meeting.
GF on the phone to her Mother.
"Nik's parents are flying in for Christmas and they would love to meet you guys, so I um, I um, I um…. Thought that we could stop in on our way down to New York just for an hour or so – for a couple of drinks"
Mother
"icy silence"
GF
"I mean – if you can't that'd be ok too, I just thought it would be nice for them to meet you guys but um…"
Mother
"When? What Time?"
And so, the arrangements were made… D Day loomed.
We packed, threw some stuff in the car. Dressed in casual attire, jeans and sweaters, we embarked on our 2 ½ hour drive to CT.
We dilly dallied, stopped along the way… got something to eat – pointed out landmarks along the way... The Casino, New London, Mystic CT… In our minds it was an informal meet and greet, drive-by with an aprox time of arrival, just a couple of drinks right?
How can we always be so wrong?
We pulled into the driveway, LATE, and found – Hmmmm, nowhere to park. GF, starts hyperventilating in the car. There is no way out now!
Her entire family was assembled in the formal reception room. Fire A' Blazing, food on platters, skewers, cocktail sticks, a variety of formal picky foods laid out. Men in sports coats and cream pants, women in suitable cranberry sweaters with pearls.
Her Father; Brother; Sister; Mother; Aunt; Aunt's Mother and a few other assortments I no longer recall. All looking uncomfortable.
We looked like a rag-tag bunch having just spent hours in the car – my parents smoking with the windows closed… ewww, nasty. So we smelt even better than we looked. We trooped in, 2 dykes and the British scotch drinking, chain smokers… AWESOME!
My parents, never intimidated by anyone, were a little overwhelmed and taken off guard. To their absolute credit, they stepped up their Queen's English and recovered quickly.
My Mother can be an engaging conversationalist and soon had the ladies tell of their trips to London. The saving grace was that both the GF's Mother and Aunt loved their jaunts across the pond. An exchange of stories began to flow and there was a nice banter going back and forth. The men said very little and all looked like they would rather be shoveling the snowy driveway. I sat on the floor by my fathers' feet drinking scotch watching the scene unfold – it was definitely an out of body experience. The tension and the ice in the room was thinly veiled by the social veneer, you could taste the discomfort.
The ladies were telling my Mother of a bus tour around London they had taken. They loved the double decker bus and found things to be quaint, charming and amusing. Not being from London, my Mother apparently had taken a similar bus excursion around London Town. She however, did not have the quaint or charming experience the Ladies were waxing poetic about.
I think she was drinking Gin and Tonic. Yup I believe – that was the poison of the evening – since $4.00 Spanish Brandy wasn't on the menu…. I truly believe – Gin could have been the culprit!
My Mother is an enigma. Possibly because she truly cares not one jot – what other people think of her. It must be a recessive gene that skipped my generation – my own skin can be so thin at times, I often wonder if you can see the muscle and bone below the surface.
The woman that bore me 21 long years earlier, launched into a story of how Londoners rip-off the tourists and try to make as much money off them as they can. She was particularly offended by the sign written by the bus door – that read:
It is customary to TIP bus drivers in this country
Not being a true statement, this enraged my Mother. She and the Gin had a lot to say about that sign – Oh yes, she did!
"It's a cunt I tell you, a bloody cunt"
The room stopped moving. All heads turned. No, they swiveled on their uptight necks in shear horror.
My Mother thought they didn't understand what she said… so she addressed the room…
"It's a cunt, a bloody cunt trick… We don't tip bus drivers in England"
The ladies of Fairfield County, well their heads began to spin on their shoulders – reminiscent of a horror movie I once saw. The men exchanged eye contact without moving, without breathing. They were simply waiting for the explosion…
My darling Mother still thinks that no-one understands what she is saying and repeats herself a few more times. My GF is in full Holy Fucking Shit panic mode… she considers explaining that the word CUNT does not mean the same in the UK as it does in the US. Trying out the words in her mind… it is a widely used term there and, and, and, and…. She couldn't even bring herself to vocalize an excuse, she was struck mute.
Aunt Gladys saved the day. Well, kinda…. Well, let's say she tried?
"So, where will you be staying in the City?"
To which my Mother responds "you don't like the word cunt?"
Psyche… Just kidding….
My Mother tells them we had planned to wing it – knowing there were a million hotels in New York and we were pretty sure we'd find something! The Ladies were suitably horrified. They didn't go to the city unless they had a car service pick them up and drive them in…. got the picture?
"You can't possibly do that; I will call my contacts and make sure you have a reservation and suitable accommodations"
Beautiful Aunt Gladys, known fondly in the family as BAG… does her absolute best to get everyone redirected into a conversation about where the British guests should stay. I was impressed, she really created quite the buzz about the issue whilst also illuminating the point that we would all be leaving SOON.
BAG jumps on the phone; my GF's Mother is hovering and fussing – looking for phone numbers…. As BAG proceeds to make a reservation…. all was just lovely until … the reservations clerk asked:
"How many rooms do you need?"
(My GF and I were mandated to stay in separate bedrooms on the rare occasion we had to stay at her parents home, on the other spectrum, my Mother delivered us coffee as we lay naked in bed… slight difference in lifestyle principles)
BAG – looks at GF's Mother…. Realizing she has just opened a true Pandora's box.
"How many rooms?"
Mother looks at GF, not knowing if we are booking 2 rooms or 3 rooms – and realizes we are now addressing the "SLEEPING" situation…. This is WAY WAY WAY worse than the term CUNT!
"How many rooms?" she asks her daughter, not wanting any answer but… 3 rooms.
We were not paying for accommodation; we were broke – world travelers at the time – living on the same dollar for about 3 years.
GF – looks at me sheepishly. I turn to my parents….
"Ma, how many rooms do we need to book?"
My Father pipes in … finally!
"Aren't there two beds to a room?"
I confirm that American hotel rooms usually have 2 double beds, yes he is correct.
I don't know who said what between my parents and myself. The three way conversation was an exchange of….
"Well that's fine right?"
"We'll take one bed and you two can have the other"
"That makes the most sense right?"
"You girls don't mind sharing with us, do you?"
"That's fine"
I turn to my quivering GF – who looks truly shell shocked by this whole exchange.
"One room is fine"
And even though everyone can hear everyone else just fine – it is repeated from Daughter to Mother to Aunt to Reservation Agent.
The hotel room was booked and there was an odd hush. No one knew quite what to say anymore. I could see images of heathens dancing around fires in the eyes of my pseudo mother-in-law. Orgies and 4 way sex with her daughter tied to the stake – in the center of a blazing bush inferno. Priceless! (Now THAT, should be used in a credit card commercial!)
We are given our coats and murmurs of social grace are exchanged and we get the hell outta dodge! Not one mention of our gayness and how gay is really the new pink – etc… In the car, I turn to my Father and ask him what happened to his plan of taking care of the situation for us. It was a Major Break with tradition …. The British NEVER admit defeat, ever… the rise and fall of the Empire and we still think we rule the globe…..
"Sorry, there was nothing we could do. That is a lost cause"
A full round of I told you so's – ensued. We stopped at the bank so my poor GF could hit the ATM. As chance would have it – her sister's car was parked outside the bank and they had a minute of sisterly bonding in the lobby of the savings and loan.
"Can you believe Nik's Mother said CUNT in front of our Mother?"
"Oh My God, I think I'm going to die"
"I didn't know what to do"
"I was going to explain that it meant something else in England – but I couldn't bring myself to say the words"
"Dude, Good luck with that… you're screwed"
She get's back in the car and regales her conversation with sissy. We all turn to look at her – dumfounded…..
"WHAT?"
She almost screams in pure frustration, incredulous I respond:
"She said… it's a con-trick, a bloody con-trick"
"I didn't say cunt, I wouldn't say cunt in front of your family… in front of my own – well, sure… but not yours"
"They really thought she said cunt?"
"I heard you say cunt… that's what we all heard"
"She said… con-trick, she said it's a con… as in it's a rip off"
"Fucking Accents…. Well, that's a bummer"
We (not including gf) dissolve into hysterics…. She did eventually find the humor in the situation.
We arrive in NY, we don't use their reservation – we find someplace cute and funky. My Mother makes the declaration that if the Americans think she is saying the word cunt… well then she's just going to bloody say it anyway. We had a great time in NYC. Especially the part where my Mother went in and out of electronic stores in Times Square…
"How much is that camera?"
"$400.00 maam"
"Well that's a cunt isn't it, a bloody cunt trick"
This blog is dedicated to my parents who have surrounded themselves with rose covered mirrors…. They create a path of devastation and walk away from it… apparently oblivious….
My Mother-in-law and I tolerated each other. Oddly enough we had so much in common and shared many interests – more so than she did with her own two daughters… it was never a warm fuzzy loving relationship – but it was ok.
Apparently she really bonded with the next girlfriend. Having been pushed to the extremes by the Brits, the Southern Bell who was mindful of social graces and knew the rules of conduct was far more palatable than I.
This story is legendary and gets told in mixed company all the time…. Especially when we accidentally drop the term 'cunt – trick' into the conversation or we feel like throwing my Mother under the bus, in the name of humor – oopsy!
It has become a household staple phrase for things that are outrageous or overpriced. I am asking you to pay it forward and next time you are shopping for a car or designer imitation purse in Times Square…. When they tell you the price … please, please, please…
Step back and say "Well that's a bloody cunt"
For me???
xoxo
Come to the Dark Side Luke
Their intentions were honorable… My father conveniently forgot his own struggle through the coming out years and now just thought it "Ridiculous" that anyone should have a problem with the Gay Factor.
Famous last words as I recall them – came from his mouth, something like this…
"We can take care of this situation for you girls"
"We'll just have a couple of drinks, totally informal"
"They can relate to us"
"We have old heads on our shoulders"
"Once they see you have parents, they will feel differently"
"Everyone loves the British"
"You watch, this will be a piece of cake"
I was 21yrs old, skeptical but hopeful…. My girlfriend was 27yrs old and terrified out of her skin. We set up the meeting.
GF on the phone to her Mother.
"Nik's parents are flying in for Christmas and they would love to meet you guys, so I um, I um, I um…. Thought that we could stop in on our way down to New York just for an hour or so – for a couple of drinks"
Mother
"icy silence"
GF
"I mean – if you can't that'd be ok too, I just thought it would be nice for them to meet you guys but um…"
Mother
"When? What Time?"
And so, the arrangements were made… D Day loomed.
We packed, threw some stuff in the car. Dressed in casual attire, jeans and sweaters, we embarked on our 2 ½ hour drive to CT.
We dilly dallied, stopped along the way… got something to eat – pointed out landmarks along the way... The Casino, New London, Mystic CT… In our minds it was an informal meet and greet, drive-by with an aprox time of arrival, just a couple of drinks right?
How can we always be so wrong?
We pulled into the driveway, LATE, and found – Hmmmm, nowhere to park. GF, starts hyperventilating in the car. There is no way out now!
Her entire family was assembled in the formal reception room. Fire A' Blazing, food on platters, skewers, cocktail sticks, a variety of formal picky foods laid out. Men in sports coats and cream pants, women in suitable cranberry sweaters with pearls.
Her Father; Brother; Sister; Mother; Aunt; Aunt's Mother and a few other assortments I no longer recall. All looking uncomfortable.
We looked like a rag-tag bunch having just spent hours in the car – my parents smoking with the windows closed… ewww, nasty. So we smelt even better than we looked. We trooped in, 2 dykes and the British scotch drinking, chain smokers… AWESOME!
My parents, never intimidated by anyone, were a little overwhelmed and taken off guard. To their absolute credit, they stepped up their Queen's English and recovered quickly.
My Mother can be an engaging conversationalist and soon had the ladies tell of their trips to London. The saving grace was that both the GF's Mother and Aunt loved their jaunts across the pond. An exchange of stories began to flow and there was a nice banter going back and forth. The men said very little and all looked like they would rather be shoveling the snowy driveway. I sat on the floor by my fathers' feet drinking scotch watching the scene unfold – it was definitely an out of body experience. The tension and the ice in the room was thinly veiled by the social veneer, you could taste the discomfort.
The ladies were telling my Mother of a bus tour around London they had taken. They loved the double decker bus and found things to be quaint, charming and amusing. Not being from London, my Mother apparently had taken a similar bus excursion around London Town. She however, did not have the quaint or charming experience the Ladies were waxing poetic about.
I think she was drinking Gin and Tonic. Yup I believe – that was the poison of the evening – since $4.00 Spanish Brandy wasn't on the menu…. I truly believe – Gin could have been the culprit!
My Mother is an enigma. Possibly because she truly cares not one jot – what other people think of her. It must be a recessive gene that skipped my generation – my own skin can be so thin at times, I often wonder if you can see the muscle and bone below the surface.
The woman that bore me 21 long years earlier, launched into a story of how Londoners rip-off the tourists and try to make as much money off them as they can. She was particularly offended by the sign written by the bus door – that read:
It is customary to TIP bus drivers in this country
Not being a true statement, this enraged my Mother. She and the Gin had a lot to say about that sign – Oh yes, she did!
"It's a cunt I tell you, a bloody cunt"
The room stopped moving. All heads turned. No, they swiveled on their uptight necks in shear horror.
My Mother thought they didn't understand what she said… so she addressed the room…
"It's a cunt, a bloody cunt trick… We don't tip bus drivers in England"
The ladies of Fairfield County, well their heads began to spin on their shoulders – reminiscent of a horror movie I once saw. The men exchanged eye contact without moving, without breathing. They were simply waiting for the explosion…
My darling Mother still thinks that no-one understands what she is saying and repeats herself a few more times. My GF is in full Holy Fucking Shit panic mode… she considers explaining that the word CUNT does not mean the same in the UK as it does in the US. Trying out the words in her mind… it is a widely used term there and, and, and, and…. She couldn't even bring herself to vocalize an excuse, she was struck mute.
Aunt Gladys saved the day. Well, kinda…. Well, let's say she tried?
"So, where will you be staying in the City?"
To which my Mother responds "you don't like the word cunt?"
Psyche… Just kidding….
My Mother tells them we had planned to wing it – knowing there were a million hotels in New York and we were pretty sure we'd find something! The Ladies were suitably horrified. They didn't go to the city unless they had a car service pick them up and drive them in…. got the picture?
"You can't possibly do that; I will call my contacts and make sure you have a reservation and suitable accommodations"
Beautiful Aunt Gladys, known fondly in the family as BAG… does her absolute best to get everyone redirected into a conversation about where the British guests should stay. I was impressed, she really created quite the buzz about the issue whilst also illuminating the point that we would all be leaving SOON.
BAG jumps on the phone; my GF's Mother is hovering and fussing – looking for phone numbers…. As BAG proceeds to make a reservation…. all was just lovely until … the reservations clerk asked:
"How many rooms do you need?"
(My GF and I were mandated to stay in separate bedrooms on the rare occasion we had to stay at her parents home, on the other spectrum, my Mother delivered us coffee as we lay naked in bed… slight difference in lifestyle principles)
BAG – looks at GF's Mother…. Realizing she has just opened a true Pandora's box.
"How many rooms?"
Mother looks at GF, not knowing if we are booking 2 rooms or 3 rooms – and realizes we are now addressing the "SLEEPING" situation…. This is WAY WAY WAY worse than the term CUNT!
"How many rooms?" she asks her daughter, not wanting any answer but… 3 rooms.
We were not paying for accommodation; we were broke – world travelers at the time – living on the same dollar for about 3 years.
GF – looks at me sheepishly. I turn to my parents….
"Ma, how many rooms do we need to book?"
My Father pipes in … finally!
"Aren't there two beds to a room?"
I confirm that American hotel rooms usually have 2 double beds, yes he is correct.
I don't know who said what between my parents and myself. The three way conversation was an exchange of….
"Well that's fine right?"
"We'll take one bed and you two can have the other"
"That makes the most sense right?"
"You girls don't mind sharing with us, do you?"
"That's fine"
I turn to my quivering GF – who looks truly shell shocked by this whole exchange.
"One room is fine"
And even though everyone can hear everyone else just fine – it is repeated from Daughter to Mother to Aunt to Reservation Agent.
The hotel room was booked and there was an odd hush. No one knew quite what to say anymore. I could see images of heathens dancing around fires in the eyes of my pseudo mother-in-law. Orgies and 4 way sex with her daughter tied to the stake – in the center of a blazing bush inferno. Priceless! (Now THAT, should be used in a credit card commercial!)
We are given our coats and murmurs of social grace are exchanged and we get the hell outta dodge! Not one mention of our gayness and how gay is really the new pink – etc… In the car, I turn to my Father and ask him what happened to his plan of taking care of the situation for us. It was a Major Break with tradition …. The British NEVER admit defeat, ever… the rise and fall of the Empire and we still think we rule the globe…..
"Sorry, there was nothing we could do. That is a lost cause"
A full round of I told you so's – ensued. We stopped at the bank so my poor GF could hit the ATM. As chance would have it – her sister's car was parked outside the bank and they had a minute of sisterly bonding in the lobby of the savings and loan.
"Can you believe Nik's Mother said CUNT in front of our Mother?"
"Oh My God, I think I'm going to die"
"I didn't know what to do"
"I was going to explain that it meant something else in England – but I couldn't bring myself to say the words"
"Dude, Good luck with that… you're screwed"
She get's back in the car and regales her conversation with sissy. We all turn to look at her – dumfounded…..
"WHAT?"
She almost screams in pure frustration, incredulous I respond:
"She said… it's a con-trick, a bloody con-trick"
"I didn't say cunt, I wouldn't say cunt in front of your family… in front of my own – well, sure… but not yours"
"They really thought she said cunt?"
"I heard you say cunt… that's what we all heard"
"She said… con-trick, she said it's a con… as in it's a rip off"
"Fucking Accents…. Well, that's a bummer"
We (not including gf) dissolve into hysterics…. She did eventually find the humor in the situation.
We arrive in NY, we don't use their reservation – we find someplace cute and funky. My Mother makes the declaration that if the Americans think she is saying the word cunt… well then she's just going to bloody say it anyway. We had a great time in NYC. Especially the part where my Mother went in and out of electronic stores in Times Square…
"How much is that camera?"
"$400.00 maam"
"Well that's a cunt isn't it, a bloody cunt trick"
This blog is dedicated to my parents who have surrounded themselves with rose covered mirrors…. They create a path of devastation and walk away from it… apparently oblivious….
My Mother-in-law and I tolerated each other. Oddly enough we had so much in common and shared many interests – more so than she did with her own two daughters… it was never a warm fuzzy loving relationship – but it was ok.
Apparently she really bonded with the next girlfriend. Having been pushed to the extremes by the Brits, the Southern Bell who was mindful of social graces and knew the rules of conduct was far more palatable than I.
This story is legendary and gets told in mixed company all the time…. Especially when we accidentally drop the term 'cunt – trick' into the conversation or we feel like throwing my Mother under the bus, in the name of humor – oopsy!
It has become a household staple phrase for things that are outrageous or overpriced. I am asking you to pay it forward and next time you are shopping for a car or designer imitation purse in Times Square…. When they tell you the price … please, please, please…
Step back and say "Well that's a bloody cunt"
For me???
xoxo
Come to the Dark Side Luke
Posts
It is a bloody CON trick - That is what I said - I could not believe the silence in the room - they just had not understood what I said- so .... I did repeat the line again and once again Wow - no response. All true
ReplyDeleteMum