Saturday, January 9, 2016

Awkward Sleepovers in Your Possible Future In-Laws' Basement

It all started with the sound of flapping wings above my grown boyfriend's futon in his parent's basement (his bedroom.)

 "What is that?" I ask, astonished. It is 9am in the morning and I grab my 25-year-old boyfriend's arm. This scrawny white, nearly hairless arm across my chest is supposed to save me from whatever bird or bat I think is about to fall on us and claw my eyes out.

 "It's just a rat in the ceiling, relax," my boyfriend says and goes back to sleep. Because the phrase it's just a rat in the ceiling, relax always calms us ladies down. Every time, guys. Remember that.

I then spent the next hour listening to the same flapping sound, convinced that it was a rat with wings (so a bat, I was right) that would fall through the ceiling and bite me, trying to eat its way through my skin (thanks, episode of Game of Thrones!)

Then, the sound stopped. And I got suspicious.

Or maybe it started when my boyfriend took me back to his (parent's) place the night before, and his roommate (friend who's fiancé's parents kicked him out for being a slob) was already asleep. And the smell of half-grown men after a full day of work hit me stronger than it ever did before. Sure, I always knew not to go nose-first towards my boyfriend's balls after he was working, but the tiny basement room had the strong scent of two men's smelly balls all over the place.

Since we couldn't wake the new roommate who was sleeping on the floor directly by the futon, my boyfriend went on the internet and I read a book, completely ignoring each other until 2:38am, when I read 58 pages and decided to go to sleep. And my boyfriend stayed up on the computer instead of joining me. Because we are romantic.

When the cock-blocking roomie left for work in the morning, we put Netflix on and I watched Spanglish because I have a weird thing for Adam Sandler. I don't even like most of his characters, or his singing on old SNLs. His character usually isn't my favorite character in a movie, except for Spanglish, but I have a weird thing for Adam Sandler, and when I have a weird thing for a particular actor, naturally I want to share this with my boyfriend and make him watch a movie with this guy and spend the whole time comparing my boyfriend to the actor. Because I respect my boyfriend's self-esteem and feelings.

And it all really started because I am a morning person. I like to brush my teeth, get dressed, and finish a whole day's worth of tasks in the first couple of hours in a day.

And because my boyfriend's basement-room doesn't have a door, and his parents decided Hey, do you know what we should do while our son has his 22-year-old girlfriend here? We should clean the room directly by his bedroom. I mean, have you looked at our son? It's not like he has any game anyway.

So, while I want to go to the basement bathroom unseen to get ready for the day, his parents are discussing the cleaning outside my boyfriend's nonexistent door.

"I need to get ready for the day," I whisper to my boyfriend, hoping he knows the magic words that will make his parents suddenly realize they need to go upstairs and clean their own room.

"I know," my boyfriend said as he reached over, grabbed my hand affectionately in understanding, and puts my hand on his balls. So we resume watching Spanglish while I squeeze his balls and his parents are cleaning his storage room, basically connected to his room. The room where I was squeezing his balls while watching Spanglish.

Eventually, I HAVE to get ready for the day. So I walk to the bathroom, first having to pass both of his parents while wearing my Hello Kitty jammies and carrying my overnight plastic bag.

After removing the used pad from yesterday’s underwear and stuffing those period panties in my plastic grocery bag (so, to be fair to his parents, my boyfriend wasn't going to get any action anyway), I realized that the trashcan is OUTSIDE the bathroom. Because boys are gross and apparently don’t need trashcans in their bathrooms. And apparently because even though each time before I spend the night I ask my boyfriend to put a trashcan in the bathroom, he never gets around to it.

So I walk out of his basement bathroom, where his parents could see me, holding a rolled-up pad in one hand, in my fancier, Hello Kitty-less daytime clothes, and toss it in the garbage right outside the storage room his parents are cleaning.

Now, I am typing this while watching inappropriate comedy specials on Netflix as my boyfriend and his dad play ping-pong in the now-clean storage room.

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