Look to Her Mother

My Uncle N. has a saying, “If you’re thinking of marrying a woman, look to her mother.” Many apples don’t fall far from the tree.

This business with Hubby’s arm got me to thinking about the torn bicep from 6-7 years ago. He tore the bicep trying to impress me on our first date. My car had some funny sound that he knew what was and we drove out to the storage unit where he kept his tools so he could get what he needed to fix it. He tried to move a work bench and tore the muscle in his arm. But he didn’t want to interrupt our first date, so we kept going.

We drove to Ann Arbor for an outdoor concert at Gallup Park, a really lovely park with quaint bridges and a circuit of maybe a mile, mile and a half. We strolled. We sat in the grass and listed to music in the twilight. Then we went to visit with my mother.

Yes, on our first date I took him home to meet my mother. She made hot fudge sundaes with homemade hot fudge and we sat in her dining room and got acquainted.

I already knew that I wanted to marry Future Hubby. We’d had that book club going on for several years and I’d known him for? three or four years. And I was serious. Future Hubby: this is my family. This is my mother.

I told Future Hubby that he could court me as long as it took him to decide whether he wanted to marry me but I would not date him. I’m not old-fashioned, not right-wing religious, none of that. I have made a shocking and disappointing percentage of profoundly stupid relationship decisions. But not this time.  I knew what I wanted with Future Hubby.

So, I took him home to meet my mother.

Many thanks, Mom. He liked the hot fudge.