Our son got a girlfriend!

So what's she like?”
I shuddered so violently the car swerved and I almost spilled my coffee, dropped my meat pie, and misdialed on my cell phone.  I tightened my grip on the steering wheel…. with both knees.

It was Mrs Ed who was asking the question, and our 19 year old son “The REE” (Resident Expert on Everything) who was carefully circumnavigating a truthful answer.  I mentally harrumphed, knowing this conversation could have devastating results.

The REE had arrived for a two week 'vac' from college the day before, and up until then we had been playing 'happy families' quite effectively.  Until then.

He had, of course, slipped up and mentioned, in passing that he had acquired himself a girlfriend in Cape Town…

This was a bad thing.  A VERY bad thing. Bad like botulism on holiday..  You see his mother had always been convinced that other than his few (previously well-vetted and all from good stock) schoolfriends from Sedgefield who had also moved to the Mother City to study, her son would mix with absolutely no-one at all during his time there.  Indeed especially not Uitlanders* (*those living outside Sedgefield, Knysna, Wilderness and some sections of George) who would undoubtedly influence him negatively and turn him into a drug-smoking, car-stealing, pill popping delinquent overnight.

No.  Not her son. She was quite sure that as soon as he finished college he would return home,  move back into his bedroom, and remain under her wing until say, 2042 when she would allow him to marry a local girl and maybe, just maybe, move out (probably next door).

But now this had been sprung on her. A girlfriend from outside her comfort zone.
  “From Cape Town?” She gasped “Who is she?  What's she like? What does she do there? What is her family like?  Does she have a job?  What about her parents?  Does she live at home?  Where is her home?  Is she homeless? OH MY GOODNESS OUR SON'S GOING TO MARRY A STREET-CHILD PROSTITUTE!” she lathered (I had to wipe the froth from the inside of the windscreen), and I sensed a battle a-brewing.  Somehow I also sensed that it would be my fault  what ever fault it turned out to be.

That happens.

But I have to hand it to the lad, he has always been able to switch-talk his mom from peace to panic and back to peace again with such ease I would have taken lessons if they had been offered. This time was no different.
“Calm down mom, it's all ok,” he soothed .
(See what I mean?  Have you ever told YOUR wife to calm down?)  “She's a nice girl, er…. Quite normal….  Er… clever…. And yeah… she's just, urm …. Nice.” he added. Such elegant eloquence, such poetic passion - he was obviously already practicing his wedding vows. 
 
Hi mother's face receded from purple to a reasonable red, and I thought that all might blow over.  Until he added, in an almost under-the-breath whisper...
“She's in my class at college.” I immediately pulled the car over onto the hard shoulder and adopted the crash position…..

  But nothing happened.  Had Mrs Ed missed it?  I wondered how.  Her famous selective memory, perhaps?  Or maybe he had hypnotised her with his calming, charming tones….

Let me explain. On his previous visit home our son had regaled with great gusto stories of how fabulously freaky all his college classmates were, without exception.  Indeed the extended family had laughed until our sides ached and eyes crossed at his vivid descriptions of each and every character:- There was Radical Ron, whose tattoos engulfed his entire body, except for the inside bits of his nostrils,   Pierce-Me-Patty, who walked with a stoop due to metal fatigue,  Weedy Will who was not nicknamed for his physique but rather for his pipe content, Pharmacy Phil (self explanatory) and Schitzo Suzi/Sherry/Bob.  
“I'm the only normal one!” he had guffawed.  It stood to reason -  one doesn't do a course in the creative industry without being surrounded by a goodly supply of nutters.

But now one was his girlfriend.  Eish!  Which one?  Could it be Klepto Clara? Or Unsure Andrea? (I hoped not  I remembered The REE saying she had only just stopped being Andre!) Whilst wondering which category this new girlfriend fell into (or escaped out of?) I said a silent prayer that Mrs Ed would not remember the conversation of his last 'vac' and put two and three together…. And she didn't. 
  
It seems she was too worried about the girl's pedigree.  I think perhaps she was hanging on her lifetime hope that SOMEONE in our family might marry into money.
“And have you met her parents?  Are they decent people?  What's their house like? Is it big?  Is it… is it …..in Constantia” she beamed with a wistful twinkle in her good eye.

The REE was certainly happy to steer the conversation in that direction.  He would much rather talk about strange OLD people than be cornered into an indepth description of his girlfriend.

“Well actually they are quite well off, but she says they are really eccentric, in a very embarrassing way.  That's why she hasn't introduced me to them yet.  She says maybe in about six months, because she really doesn't want me to get scared off.  Something about building a SOLID relationship before subjecting it to anything that might be a threat. I must say, the way she talks about them they sound like REAL nut jobs.….”

But Mrs Ed had stopped listening at the 'quite well off' bit. 
“Oh it will be so nice to be connected with a good, Cape Town family.  So refreshing,” she mused. “Can you imagine the wedding?  A society wedding!  Perhaps we should invite their family up for a weekend….?  Or at least drive down and meet this lovely young lady of yours….? As soon as possible I would say!”

Now it was time (I noticed) for The REE  to look somewhat stressed.  In fact I think I detected a tremor of hysteria in his voice. He looked at me with that 'Help me here Father' panic that I hadn't seen in his eyes since the Zipper Accident of 2001,
“No really mom, there's er … no  hurry, We will organize something… at some stage… but uhm… probably not this year, ey, it's kind of hectic at college and I really don't think you need to rush anything…. we thought maybe, March .. if that's ok? Or April?  Maybe for Easter? Or the July Holidays?  How about then?  Why don't we leave it until next year July?”