Meet The Carmichaels (Literally)

In anticipation of meeting Daughter #1’s new beau momentarily, I have cleaned Casa Carmichael (visible bits) within an inch of its over long life, attempted to jet wash my deck chairs (big fail, Mrs C is not cut out for physical labour), filled an over sized shopping trolly full to brim with nice, tempting nibbles and will very soon be indulging in a pre-prandial to relax and to ensure the bon viveurness said daughter will require from mother of the potential bride.

But roll it back a notch. I have just been informed by my first born that we are to pretend no knowledge of the young man’s cv.

We are not to talk about his semi pro rugby prowess (that will be hard for Mr Carmichael) nor the fact that he has been in her wings since last October (sshhh).

The fact that he went to Oxford (tick, vg) and works at the same company as the daughter until last week (she left not him) are verboten topics of conversation also.

It should be ok to say “Gosh, you’re tall,” as that will be immediately obvious but it must come as a total surprise. I can do surprise but better make my sundowner on the weakish side so as not to overdo the pleased shock.

I guess I better not follow that with “And very handsome.” That might be unnecessarily  forward of me. But I can tell you, he is. I’ve seen a pic on her iPhone. Tall, dark and handsome. What more could a mother want?

Mr C was only told his first name yesterday. I’ve know both first and last for simply ages (yes, go me) but we’re not to indicate too much familiarity with it/them apparently.

“But, Darling,” I say coyly. “If it’s a shared boudoir you’re after, surely we should have some foreknowledge of M…… Otherwise he might think you bring complete strangers back to your parent’s place on a regular and frequent basis.” Ha!

I don’t know how it’s going to go but one thing I do know is that Daughter #1 will let us know everything we are doing wrong for the duration of the evening . Of that I can be sure.

Perfume spritzed, lippy on. It must be gin time.

Wish me luck.

33 thoughts on “Meet The Carmichaels (Literally)

    1. I’m glugging a gin, campari and orange (lime squeeze) and eating particularly average olives at the moment and just a little worried I might fancy him myself.

      1. Lordy, I want my life back!
        She asked me tonight what I thought of him. I countered with, “what did he think of me?” She replied, “we didn’t talk about you.”
        Should I cry now or in ten years when it’s even worse?

  1. I don’t suppose she would approve of the traditional questions of my era:
    #1 What does your father do?
    #2 What do you do?
    #3 What are your prospects?
    #4 What are your intentions?

    Why does she want to pretend he hasn’t been talked about? He has a greedy ego she doesn’t want to feed? Or he’s actually an undercover agent and she wants to prove that she’d be a suitably clammed-up partner?

    1. oooh I love the idea of an undercover agent and funnily enough we live near Latimer where Burgess and Philby were trained.
      I got answers to quite a few of your questions (he stayed an extra night) but I think my answer to your question id that Mr C and I tend to be quite overwhelming so she tries to limit our exposure and does not want to seem as if she’s been talking about him to us – keeping it cool in other words.

  2. Gosh are these things hard work! I remember the fuss over my son’s girlfriend – we practically had to go around with blinkers on. One of our favourite family stories is of Mr Litlove’s late dad. When Mr Litlove was still a small child the family went to meet an aunt and her new second husband. ‘Don’t forget to call him Christopher,’ his dad told them sternly. ‘It’s not Uncle Geoffrey any more.’ And if he said it once he said it a dozen times. Only, of course, to walk into the party, head over to the hosts, extend a hand and say ‘Hello, Geoffrey!’ He never lived it down.

    1. oh I can so empathise. At least it wasn’t Christopher to Dorothy! I did make one mistake over last night’s bbq and got the Daughter #1’s eye bore but thanks to Mr c being so STUPID and asking where he went to uni -duh! even though we KNEW it was OXFORD (history and politics) I think we passed the inanition test.

  3. Reminded me of when I met my future in-laws for the first time. Found out much later that mother in-law to be went with wine instead of gin.

  4. What an ordeal! Almost as bad as the one you went through giving birth to her in the first place, although you surely aren’t allowed to mention THAT either!

  5. I’m embarrassed it’s taken me so long to visit your blog and read through your words, as you are always so supportive of mine. I should have visited a long time ago, you have such a creative writing style and your personality shines right through. Shall certainly be dropping by more frequently 🙂

    1. Oh Thank you, Noor. You got there in the end and thanks for the lovely words. I’m looking forward to you new blog title/tag line. I changed my theme a month or so back and it was so much fun – pathetic what Mrs C finds to fill her day 🙂

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