Norman Bates, anyone?
The only time I've ever met the parents was when I was twelve. (We got going early in my school, he was 13). He invited me to the cinema with him by way of a first date, and said his mum would take us. (The film was The Borrowers, to give you an idea of how long ago this was).

Fair enough. I get to his house a couple of hours before we're due to go to the cinema, and meet his mum. Who calls him her 'brave little soldier'. Boyfriend proceeds to show me his current favourite pastime. Crochet. Yes, you read that right.

But wait. It gets worse. His father was abroad a lot *cough*TAXDODGER*cough*, and while he was away, 'brave little soldier' here still shared a bed with his mum.

Convinced that I can do something to salvage the situation when we get to the cinema, I hope to relieve us of his mum and give him a bit of the experience he's been bragging to his mates that he's had (and hasn't). His mum lets us out of the car, ushers us up to the ticket booth and orders _three_ tickets. The third being for the seat between us.

Guess who didn't get to first base that day? And last I heard, he'd come out of the closet, so it wasn't my fault. He's now at uni, too, and unsurprisingly his mum acquired a job at the same place so she could 'keep an eye on him'. In a way I feel sorry for him, really.
( Maladicta, Thu 19 May 2005, 19:49, Reply)