A cool foggy morning in Belgium, the air tinged with a taste of drizzle, the trees' dark shadows emerging from mist. After the kids grab the bus, I head off on my morning walk, down the farm road, under the cottonwoods, and past the fields full of soybeans and beets.
It’s wet and muddy but I decide to take the wandeling through the woods, figuring the sight and scent of mossy ground and falling leaves will more than compensate for wet feet and dirty shoes. There are thickets of white birch that I love to pass through and a pond surrounded by weeping willows and towering hardwoods that I like to visit.
Every morning when I’m walking, I see people out with their dogs, and I’ve come to know many of the owners and pets in an informal way. Until recently, I’ve always owned both dogs and cats, but now I just have Petey, my slick black cat.
In the woods, I encounter a beautiful, glossy black lab with soulful eyes. He wanders over to greet me and I put a hand down to let him take a sniff. In a split second, he’s got my thigh in a passionate love clutch and is doing the Elvis on me. Damn, I am one sexy b*tch. I’m a substantial grrrl but he nearly knocks me over with the force of his love. His owner reprimands the dog in Dutch as I try to gracefully extricate myself from his muddy embrace.
The owner is mortified, but I reassure him in English that it’s OK, I love dogs (not in the sense this dog loves me, but I do love dogs.) We go our separate ways, and I start to smile remembering a big moment from my past:
E and I had been dating for a long time and we were engaged, but I had never met his parents who lived in Florida. He was stationed in Alabama, and I was in college in Virginia. We decided I’d fly down to where he was, and then we’d drive to his parents’ house and spend a few days there so I could meet his family.
It goes without saying I was nervous. E had been part of my family from Day One, and they had had plenty of time to get to know him before we became engaged. It would be a lot different waltzing into his house as fiancée and future family member. I was doing my best to be calm, cool, and collected and make a favorable impression.
Growing up in a household with an Irish father and Italian mother, I was used to bold and noisy hospitality. My mother greeted guests with loud exclamations of happiness and big hugs, and quickly got the kettle on and some sweet baked good onto the table. My dad, true to Irish tradition, always offered a drink and a story peppered with humor. Table conversations often became loud and silly with much laughing. This was my world.
When E brought me through the front door of his parents’ house in Florida, I expected a bit of the same treatment—the warm welcome, the abundant conversation. Instead his mom, who is Belgian, greeted me with a tepid handshake and said, “Hi V. We’re glad you could visit,” in a quiet voice.
My first thought: “His mother hates me! She hates me!”
I didn’t know about the legendary reticence of Belgians, their natural reserve, or my mother-in-law’s deep shyness. She was probably as nervous as I was, but at the tender age of 19, I couldn’t imagine an adult being intimidated by meeting me.
I put my suitcase in the room where I’d be staying and went with E into the living room to visit with his family. Perched nervously on the edge of the black leather sofa, I was trying hard to relax while E’s dad, an American with a booming voice, pummeled me with questions on my achievements and career plans. He was an extremely practical man and had a hard time understanding why anyone would earn a "useless" liberal arts degree. This, by the way, would be a recurring theme in our 20-year relationship—him wondering when I was ever going to “use my gray matter” and me defending my choices.
E’s sister and one of his brothers entered the room and I felt better. We had a rapport and it was good to have some people my age to relate to. What’s strange to consider now is that when I met E’s mom, she was about the age I am now.
So as I sat on the sofa trying so hard to be acceptable to my future in-laws, the family beagle came in and introduced himself. First he stuck his blunt snout straight into my crotch, and then clearly turned on by what he found there, he mounted my shin and started vigorously showing his approval. (See y’all, I have always been a very sexy b*tch.)
I had crossed my legs after the muzzle molestation, and Barney found the angle of that top leg to be just right for maximum stimulation. I kept trying to subtly deter him from his act of passion, but the more I tried to shake him off, the harder he hung on. Clearly he liked his sex rough. Everyone in the room was stunned into silence, trying to pretend this wasn’t happening in the House of Reserve and Propriety.
The Real V would have made a joke and quickly diffused the situation, but the Trying Desperately to Impress V swallowed all her clever words and wished to disappear.
Ultimately, it was E’s brother M who saved the day with a big smile and a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.
“Well, Barney sure LIKES V---he likes her a lot! I think he likes her the same way E does.”
Oh lord. What a relief. A smartass in the family! I was able to loosen up and finally push the dog off with E’s help while M received a bit of a glare from E’s parents for his “inappropriate” remark.
It would be a long time before I freely expressed myself at Chez E, but in those early years, M and I would often share a number of loaded glances and little smirks across the room as we navigated the conservative family dynamics together. Sadly, our relationship would deteriorate over the years, but I’ll always remember that first meeting and our instant camaraderie and how he kept the day from going to the dogs.
October 3, 2007