Mrs. McGillicutty Meets Mimi

It was Friday the 13th. Mix that with a Pencil Skirt like me and well.....anything could happen.
If you read my blog regularly you know that I do not wait for catastrophic events to occur. I am proactive in this regard and go ahead and create them myself.

My day began, for example, when I sat bolt upright in bed and realized I'd put seven words in Turnbaby's six word story meme and published it two days ago. Thank you, friends, for not pointing this out to me. More importantly, it was the day I met Mrs. McGillicutty for the first time - my boyfriend's mother. I subtracted a word lickidy-split (carrying the one...I'm so good at math) and shuffled through my wardrobe to find something that screamed Mother Approved.

Then it happened.
I broke a nail.

Not just any old nail crisis, mind you - one hour before we headed out to dinner. Everyone knows this the absolute worst thing that could happen to me.
My Prince, surprisingly, did not have nail reconstruction glue on hand (he knew I was coming, what was he THINKING?!),
no superglue (that was a bad idea) and only an Elmer's bottle that looked like it was left over from the 3rd grade. He patiently glued. I waited. Of course it didn't work! What were you THINKING? I wasn't thinking. All I knew is that after three hours of primping and three bottles of hair glaze and three Hail Marys, I could not greet Mrs. McGillicutty with an injured cuticle.

So, he taped it.
With scotch tape.

This was almost a good idea.

Of course it didn't work. What were you THINKING??!

So we decided to pretend I'd cut my finger and wrapped a Bandaid around index pointer right hand with what was left of the botched end sticking out.
I was maimed.
It was a delicate operation. Bud pulled through without a blink.

But the nail didn't.
It fell off - at the exact moment I was standing with his mother in the foyer of the restaurant while he was parking the car. He leaves me in charge of his 84-year-old mother and I can't even keep my fingernails on. It wouldn't have been so bad if my hand were not securely fastened to her frail little arm to steady her. It was a moment.
But not one I ever want to repeat.

Good thing for me the room was dimly lit and we'd had cocktails earlier so maybe Mrs. McGillicutty couldn't see the disaster. Anyone who reads this blog knows that nail breaking ranks right up there with monsoons and forest fires. When he returned, my face was pale and my right hand was oddly dwarfed. He looked at me strangely - this wasn't the first time, folks - but he had no idea I needed more surgery. On with dinner.

I thought, we're not even INside and I've managed to create a disaster. I so needed a Chapel.

We dined at The Gristmill Restaurant, which is in an antique mill dating back to the 1640s. Elegant, beautiful ambiance, romantic and fabulous cuisine. Mrs. McGillicutty is a gregarious, feisty, outgoing and confident lady. I thoroughly enjoyed her company.

Dinner went smoothly. Bud told her about my mouse-in-the-car story and I shared the lobster-killing tale. I asked "Mrs. McGillicutty, I'm sure you know that your son is a great cook," at which point she burst into laughter. And then, "Well, he is pretty wonderful."
I told her I couldn't agree more.

By the end of the evening we'd laughed a a lot, cried a little (well....not my Prince) and I heard childhood tales of a mischievous little boy, who was - and still is - the apple of his mother's eye. (Oh, the pressure.)

She insisted that he take me to the window to see the waterfall and the lights surrounding this beautifully decorated room. We did. But the adventure did not end for Mrs. McGillicutty that easily, I soon found out.

Picture this: It is pitch dark. It is cold. It is New England wind and Mimi did not bring a coat. What was I THINKING?! My Prince went to get the car and I thought we'd wait patiently and have a nice chat about our families (maybe even coax another amusing story about her middle child) but Mrs. McGillicutty had other plans.

"Let's go over there," said this curious and intelligent woman. Did I mention independent? When I say independent I mean independent. At seventy-six she took a trip to Egypt and attempted to climb a Pyramid - alone. Where could she possibly want to take me now?

And where is he ??!! How long could it possibly take to get the car?

We held on to each other in the pesky wind and she guided me around the corner of the building.
To a railing.
With water roaring underneath (imagine above picture in the dark)
Over old cobblestones and cracks.....closer and closer....

"I want you to see this, Mimi, come on!"

I promise Mrs. McGillicutty, I'll never blog about you again. Yesterday's post was just a little comic relief. Doesn't she know I was kidding? Why did she wait until he left to take me to a high place? She knows I'm afraid of heights. And I knew she wasn't afraid of ANYthing.

Maybe she just couldn't handle my pencil skirt scenarios......I'm doomed.
"Isn't it beautiful, Mimi?"

"Yes, Mrs. McGillicutty, it is. Thank you for leading me over here. uhhh.....but you must be cold. We should really go back now."

So we hobbled and tilted and carefully walked back in the dark to find my Prince. He had left me to take care of her but it was really the other way around.
As we got in the car she said with a laugh......."That Mimi almost blew away!"

It was a moment.


NOTE: My plane just brought me safely back to Bloggingham Palace. It was a great vacation. Tomorrow, my musical adventure with MR. McGillicutty. Stay tuned.