It was a good idea to have WG's mom meet my parents.
People kept trying to stress me out, saying things like this:
"Oh, wow, that's BIG. Are you ready for that?"
"My goodness. Your relationship must be really serious!"
No, folks, it's not BIG, and let me tell you why. This wasn't an official pow-wow like sit-down, in which parents duke out wedding budgets. You know why? Because we're not engaged. We're dating.
WG's mom came to California for a weekend, and, honestly, I simply thought she and my mom would enjoy each other's company.
And, you know what? They did.
We sat down for dinner at a fab restaurant in Napa (known as much for its $5 burger nights as for it's changing monthly menu of gourmet treats). A WG-selected bottle of wine was opened and poured. My mom and WGM (WG's mom) settled in next to each other and promptly became the best of friends.
My dad, left out of the girls' conversation, talked to WG and me about various topics but mostly let his attention drift to the March Madness game being displayed in the bar area.
By dessert's end, Mama and WGM had created a new dessert by combining their two treats (a chocolate torte and an apple crunch) and declaring it the best of the evening.
After a delectable dinner, I didn't feel like the evening was done. My mom kept repeating, "We should go," but in that voice guests use when they really would rather the hosts invite them to stay the night. In a clear genetic link, I kept repeating my request to go bowling. So, my mom and I were like two broken records, but I won.
We went bowling.
I rode with WG and WGM. My parents went on their own.
We discovered, when the two long-lost friends were reunited in fits of giggling in the parking lot that both had separately declared they could easily become "the best of friends!!!!!!"
The squeeling and happiness continued, and my dad, WG and me only had to stop them so that our ears would cease to bleed.
We played. We complained about the little teenie boppers in the next lane who kept stealing our balls. WG could not quite get into the groove of his crazy-ball. I happily got two strikes in our second game but still failed to break one hundred. We laughed a lot, and finally, everyone went home exhausted but content.
So, his mom met my mom, and there was narry a drop of drama.