Poor time management

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February 22, 2013 by E.

Originally, I was planning for this to be a food post.  A. and I had homemade taglietelle with swiss chard and chicken sausage for dinner last night, and it was fantastic, if I do say so myself.  Easy, simple, comforting, and wholesome.

But, I didn’t take a single picture, since A. was (justifiably) urging me to get dinner on the table instead of fussing around with a camera.  Therefore, that recipe will have to wait for another time.

Instead, I’ll tell you about the first time A. met my parents.

The date: Graduation Day, May 2011.

A. and I had been officially dating for a whole two months.  A. had inadvertently used the L word for the first time a month ago, and I was saying it back.  Since he was only the second  real boyfriend I’d ever had, and definitely the only one to hear me utter those three little words, I’m guessing that my parents were pretty curious as to what made this one so special.

So when I decided I wanted dinner at Bin 54, arguably the fanciest restaurant in Chapel Hill, as my graduation present, and my parents offered to treat A. as well, I knew I better drag him along.

For anyone who has been through a college graduation (or similar) ceremony, you know that it’s a long day.  There’s always traffic, so it takes a long time to get to the venue.  The ceremony is long, the speeches are long, the whole ordeal is just long.  It’s a great day, full of celebration and relief and joy, but it’s a rather tiring experience.  Which is why, after we’d shed caps and gowns, after we’d taken pictures with friends, family, and professors, after we’d congratulated ourselves on making it this far, all A. and I wanted to do was escape from the minor frenzy and take power naps before dinner.

We agreed to meet my parents at the restaurant in a few hours, and they went back to their hotel while A. and I retreated to his apartment to rest.

However, as is often the case with us, being in the same bed together can lead to several things; sleep is rarely the first.  What should have been a 30 minute nap and an hour to shower/get ready for dinner turned into 2 hours of playful and energetic sex (we’re still not at the “lovemaking” stage).

We finish, and are lying in bed, panting heavily, trying to recover our senses after la petite mort has flooded our brains with oxytocin, when I happen to look over at the clock.

Our dinner reservation was in 15 minutes.

We had precisely 5 minutes to shower and get dressed before we must leave for the restaurant.

Obviously, showering was out of the question.  A. and I jumped up and raced to his bathroom.  I was trying to give myself a sponge bath while simultaneously redoing my makeup and attempting to tame my hair.  His bathroom, too small for two people at the best of times, had us bumping into each other like The Three Stooges.  He must have thrown out half the clothes in his closet looking for a clean, wrinkle-free, matching outfit.  I was putting on mascara while walking to the car (not recommended).  We both reeked of cologne and perfume, but that was better than the alternative.  Both of us were still sweating from the exertion of our sex and from our frenetic hustle to get out the door on time.

To my shock and relief, we actually beat my parents to the restaurant.  While we were waiting for them to arrive, A. and I used the time to take deep breaths, return our heartbeats to a normal resting rate, and smile mischievously to ourselves.

Dinner was amazing, my parents adored him, and the rest is history!

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