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MEET THE PARENTS

Trust me, I’ve been there
Zoe Williams

A friend the other day was talking about the time he took our friend Rory to stay at his parents’ house. Just who has sleepovers with their parents at the age of 40, anyway? Never mind all that now, I think it had something to do with golf.

Rory did everything it’s possible to do wrong: he came downstairs in his dressing-gown, when they’re a dress-for-breakfast family; the dressing-gown flapped open, which I think would be wrong in any kind of family; he stuck his butter-smeared knife in the jam (suppressed horror from the mother) and he drank coffee. This was the worst of the offences. They were a tea family; strong coffee was what you had in restaurants, when you wanted something to sober you up. To cap it all off, he spent about an hour in the toilet and emerged clutching their copy of the Times.

Not one of these offences is malicious, but as the facts were laid out before me, it was beginning to sound like an episode of CSI Cirencester. I recoiled in horror. How totally embarrassing.

Bear in mind here, that these two friends weren’t even romantically involved. What if you made mistakes like that with the parents of your boyfriend, with people who are staring down the barrel of having to welcome you into their family, possible forever.

I can say, hand-on-heart, I’ve never gone down to breakfast without all my clothes on, or borrowed someone’s paper to read on the loo. But, one time, I had just come out of the shower and couldn’t find a towel, so I dried myself on my sock to avoid asking for one.

I had just come out of the shower and couldn’t find a towel, so I dried myself on a sock to avoid asking for one.

Another time, I had to forgo a shower altogether. But nobody’s going to fire you as daughter-inlaw for having dirty hair on a Saturday, whereas if you accidentally flashed them, that’s the end of your relationship right there; you might as well have had an affair with his best friend. A dirty daughter-in-law is not a crime, but there is something exquisitely awkward about presenting your bed face to in-laws, especially when it’s wearing one of those overnight face-creases like a history of street-fighting.

When my best friend first moved into her boyfriend’s house, she used to get up on the quiet at 6am, reapply, go back to bed and wake up as if she’d always looked like that. That might be fine for a boyfriend, but if you do that for his parents, you look psychotic. What else are you lying about? Are you really even female?

As you head off for your Easter stays, remember: no fake-tanning the day before, you’ll ruin the sheets; no sex, you’ll ruin the sheets. And no being yourself, however comfortable you may feel. Trust me, I’ve been there.

Next month: Why I hate weddings