The Mother In Law

Today I found myself thinking about the first time I met my mother-in-law. We were at a bar in Huntington Beach for Hubs' 30th birthday. He and I had only been dating about a month and we still hadn't told many people because... well... he was the boss and it wouldn't have been a good idea to go shouting our relationship from the rooftops.

After being introduced, his mom and I sat down next to each other and got to chatting. Chatting is one (of many) things she's amazing at. Seriously. (Cathy, I know you're reading.)

Eventually she asked me The Question. In fact, when anyone now asks me The Question, I immediately find myself thinking about mine and my mother-in-law's first meeting.

The Question was: "How old are you?"

I tried to laugh it off. I made a poor attempt at a cheesy joke, trying to get her mind off it. I did not want to tell her, my new boyfriend's mother, that I was twelve years younger than her son. Really, it's only eleven years, but during three months in the summer, between his birthday and mine, it's twelve.

But she wouldn't let me off the hook. So I told her. "I'm 18." And what was her response?

She stood up, craned her neck to find Hubs, and shouted for everyone to hear, "Son, you're robbing the cradle!"

I laugh about it now. Nervously. Sometimes I hear it in my dreams.