and breathe...

Brit Boy has now met my mother. And my mother has now met Brit Boy. Red mohawk and all. My mother's acknowledgment of the fact that I was bringing someone to the family Christmas gathering was... well... nonexistent. I talked about it. I explicitly said I was bringing someone. I continued to talk about Brit Boy and all the things we were doing. Her response?

*crickets chirping*

Yeah, there was nothing. So, when we arrived at the Las Vegas airport on Christmas Eve and met up with my brother and my mother, I was a little apprehensive. As was Brit Boy. My mom was polite. She was cordial. A good Southern woman. When we got to the hotel and the desk clerk was talking about "yes, we have you in a king non-smoking room..." she didn't bat an eye. Where was the woman that has been subtly and not so subtly been telling me for the past 13 years that I'm not really gay? That I'm just waiting for the right woman. That I need to settle down and have children. With a woman.

Well, I'm sure she was there somewhere, just not on the surface.

We dropped my mother off at the airport earlier today. She turned to my brother, "You need to come visit. Yes, come in February or March." She turned to me, "And you too... come to visit, come to see me." And then she turned to Brit Boy. "And you too, you can come and visit too."

My jaw almost hit the floor. Well, sometimes it just takes being actually confronted with something to make you recognize it. Or maybe I'll have an earful on the next phone conversation after the holidays. We shall see.