15-ten, 15-ten, and Three of a Kind*

S's parents stayed at his house over Thanksgiving weekend. So did I. During their visit last Christmas, we got over the uncomfortable moment when they realized that their son is dating a hussy who is 'loose with her favors', so this year, they didn't blink an eye when I came rolling downstairs in the mornings, stumbling directly towards the coffeepot.

The weekend has gone remarkably smoothly. His parents have more humor than any other boyfriend's that I've been exposed to, and despite their voting history, are quite liberal-minded. After all, they ARE allowing their son to date a Bi-Racial Hussy.

The greatest bonding tool has proven to be my request for them to teach me to play cribbage. During the afternoons, I would run errands and head back to my apartment to keep my cat alive. When I'd return, S's parents would invariably be sitting at the dining room table, playing cribbage. Masterful players who follow the Hoyle Rules to the T, their scorekeeping rattle sounded like so many foreign phrases that incorporate soundbites that you THINK you understand, but why in the heck don't they actually make sense? And so I asked for a lesson.

The debate ensued over which of them should teach me. After the lessons began, they couldn't keep from interjecting, interrupting and over-ruling each other. S stood in the background, rolling his eyes and clearly staying out of it.

And we played. And I learned. Game after game, I scored well, had luck on my side, and by the end of the night, they declared that they'd 'created a monster'.

Which is a slightly better perception than hussy, right?


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*10 + 10 + 6 = 26