Just another reason I'm glad my parents are internet-illiterate.

Scott and I are going to a concert tomorrow night with one of my cousins and his wife, in Tulsa, which means we're going to spend the weekend with my parents. Now, I love my parents, they are wonderful people and I enjoy spending time with them. But they are the most conservative people I know, which can put a damper on things.

You need to understand that when I say conservative, I mean that I think Jesus was more liberal than my parents. No cursing (you don't even say "butt" as in your ass, or "sucks" as in this sucks big fat hairy balls, around my parents), no drinking, no deviant behavior of any kind. I hid my belly button ring from them, until it was ripped out about 4 months after I got it (which hurt like hell, but I digress). I hid my tongue ring from them for a few months, then when I gave up on that, my mom was so disappointed that she called my Nana and asked her to tell me she didn't like it. Luckily that plan backfired because when Nana saw it she said she thought it was cute. They still don't know about my tattoo. And I will never forget this conversation, as I lliterally had my hand on the front door knob, about a month before my wedding, about to meet up with Scott for a three-day trip to find a place to live in northeast Missouri:

Dad (apparently all too aware that Scott and I would be spending two nights, unchaperoned, in the same hotel room): Now, don't you go up there and be having sex and getting yourself pregnant.

I froze, mortified, despite the fact that there was only my parents and myself in the house. I had no idea how to respond.

Mom: Oh, don't worry, that's why I made her that doctor's appointment for next week. She's going to have a female exam and get on birth control.

At this point I just wanted to get the f*ck out of there, but seeing as how I was unable to do much more than stutter, "I-I, uhh, i-it's, wu-well..." I was pretty much stuck until I figured a way to extricate myself from the most uncomfortable conversation anyone has ever had.

Dad: Well, that's good, just remember, you're not married yet.

I should mention here that Scott and I had been dating for over three years, while we each had our own apartments in Norman he pretty much lived with me and we had been having (safe, responsible, birth-controlled) sex for most of our relationship. However, my parents remained blissfully in the dark about most of that. Any time they came to town, we rushed to hide any trace of Scott in my apartment. When we visited my parents, not only did we (obviously) have to sleep in separate rooms, we had to be on separate floors. Seriously. I had to sleep downstairs with my mom in my parents' room and Scott and my dad would each take one of the upstairs bedrooms. But I was not about to call attention to my sexual history just to prove to them that I was a good, responsible, pregnancy-wary daughter.


Needless to say, I finally got away from the most horrible conversation anyone has ever had, we found a place to live, got married, and so on. Now, even though we are both pushing 30, any time my parents come to visit, instead of hiding any trace of Scott, I hide any trace of alcohol. I actually have cabinet space devoted to last-minute wine rack stashing.

But you're an adult, you can do what you want, you argue. You make a fine point, but with my parents I prefer to avoid the conflict that would no doubt ensue, fueled mostly by their disappointment in my lack of adherence to the singular direction of their moral compass. Also, I truly love my parents and have so much gratitude for everything they've done for me over the course of my life that what some people might consider a serious case of vaginitis when it comes to standing up to my parents, I prefer to look at as respect for our differences and a desire to help them maintain their peace of mind.

Back to the dilemma of the weekend. Scott has big plans to get wa-wa-wa-wasted Saturday, and I would very much like to be right there with him. My cousin's wife recently found out she's preggo, so we have a designated driver (safety first, kids), so the only thing limiting the level of my potential drunkenness is the fact that, post-concert festivities we'll be returning to the site of my childhood sheltering and repression. I pointed this out to Scott when he mentioned his plans to get (I shit you not, but I love him so don't judge) "crunk" Saturday night and he countered with, "Oh, come on, your parents go to bed so early there's no way they'll still be up when we get back." I will grant him that my mom will likely expire for the night no later than 9 or 10 p.m. But my dad still has a tendency to wait up, despite my 28 years on this earth and my five and a half years of marriage.

I have, over the years, gone out and enjoyed a few drinks with friends while staying with my parents' but I have always managed to reign it in before I reach the point of obvious intoxication, and I always make sure to have a mint or a gum handy, and I don't think I've ever greeted my dad reeking of alcohol. But while I certainly don't want to be Debbie Downer and cut Scott off tomorrow, because to be quite honest we could both really use a night of drunken debauchery right about now, I am concerned that we will be found out. And I have a valid reason for concern, and it honestly has nothing to do with being afraid of how he'll act: for some reason, after even just a few beers, I can always smell the alcohol on Scott.

Perhaps I'm just accustomed to his natural musk (sorry, I don't know what else to call it). Or perhaps I'm overly sensitive because of the vodka-church incident. In college my friend Miranda and I convinced Scott and her boyfriend at the time to accompany us to church. We had arranged to have the two of them share a place, seeing as how they both pretty much lived with each of us in our own apartments but needed a place of their own to avoid scnadalizing our parents. This particular weekend, we had a party at their place Saturday night and apparently they stayed up until the wee hours, sitting on the roof, killing a liter of vodka. I leaned over to Miranda during the service and whispered that Scott either forgot to shower or else he was seeping alcohol from his pores. She said Josh smelled like a brewery. We were both embarrassed beyond belief, especially since it was a full house and the guys definitely had people close enough on their other sides to catch a whiff anytime we stood up or sat down. And if you've ever been to a Baptist church, you know there's a lot of up and down before the sermon starts.

Over lunch they told us just how much they had drank and quite frankly we were impressed that they weren't stumbling around and slurring their words. But ever since I took Scott to church sweating vodka, I've been a little paranoid that whenever he decides to tie one on, everyone can smell it on him. Maybe I'll just make sure to leave his cologne in the car and spray him down when we pull in the drive. Did I mention we'll be going to church with my parents Sunday morning?