And then this also happened.

So...you know how when you're hiding from a guy's mother, half-naked in his laundry room with your winter boots held over your boobs for modesty's sake?

No?

Well not everybody can be so worldly.

In my defense...they were really nice boots. Completely appropriate for meeting somebody's mother for the very first time, even if they weren't exactly on my feet.

As I peeked through the wide crack in the door at Alex trying to prevent his mother from continuing up the stairs and into his house where all she would have to do is turn her head slightly to the right to find out exactly where she'd heard the sound of a girl laughing, I started to panic.

I've wanted to meet Alex's mother for years. If she found me in her son's laundry room, and if she happened to notice I wasn't her son's live-in girlfriend, the ensuing conversation would probably be very different from the one I'd repeatedly imagined.

Just in case, I readjusted the boots in front of my boobs should a handshake be called for, requiring the use of my arm.

The day before, I had interviewed for my dream job at my dream company, conveniently located in the same city as Alex. The interview had gone well enough for me to be wildly hopeful. In two weeks time, I could be living in his same city, making more money than I'd dreamed and getting paid to travel to glamorous locations.

I told Alex all about it after I arrived at his place early the next morning, well before he had to go to work and just after his girlfriend had left for the day. After he gave me a tour of the house I'd only ever seen glimpses of in our webcam "dates," leading from behind with his arms wrapped tight around my waist and his face buried in my neck. After he called in late for work, then later still an hour later. After we were naked, watching the snow fall outside the windows from the floor where we'd somehow landed, we talked about my dream job, and what it could mean if I got it.

If I got the job, we could be living in the same city for the first time since we met. In two weeks, the biggest obstacle to us being together could be eliminated (well...one of the biggest obstacles...top five at least) a proposition that thrilled Alex. He actually seemed more excited than I was.

Probably because he wasn't currently stuck behind a door in his laundry room.

He was however, doing a fantastic job of convincing his mother that the female laughter she'd heard from her suite downstairs was the television. What Not To Wear. He watches it every morning. Yes, he does. Really Mom, every morning. Stacy and Clinton. What Not to Wear. She'd heard Stacy London. Not his girlfriend. His girlfriend was at work. Just the TV.

This was a revelation. Alex knows who in the hell Stacy London is?? What else don't I know about him? In a morning that had already included Alex answering the door wearing...I don't even know how to say it. He answered the door wearing...well...

....

....

Crocs.

Yes, I said it. Crocs. Crocs!!

For the love of sweet peanut brittle...until I remembered that he would have to see my thighs that morning, I could hardly look at him. One can never underestimate the sacrifices we make for love.

As I considered how much more we could learn about one another just by newly found proximity, I took a moment to look around my hiding place. Alex has good taste. Very expensive washer and dryer set. Fashionably colored. Front loading. Very pretty.

Folded on the dryer were a pair of girl's jeans and a bra. Jeans - size zero. Bra - D cup. What the shit? How is that even possible?? Nobody has those proportions. Not even Barbie has those proportions. Barbie comes close to those proportions, but I'm guessing Alex's girlfriend doesn't have a smooth plastic area where her va-jay should be, so she's still way the fuck ahead of Barbie just by being able to pass water. Although being a size zero, I'm not entirely convinced she's got room to hold it.

(Later, as I ranted to my sister that all I could think about while hiding half-naked in the laundry room was how Alex could possibly still be attracted to my overly large sorry ass when his girlfriend is a size zero with boobs bigger than my head, she sighed.

"Do you ever listen to yourself? You were HIDING in his LAUNDRY ROOM and all you're upset about is the size of his GIRLFRIEND'S JEANS?"

Well of course not. That would make my priorities really skewed. Her boobs being ginormous and perfect while mine can be easily covered by one pair of water-resistant Hush Puppie booties was also concerning. Clearly, my sister needs to pay better attention while I talk.)

I'd like to say I felt guilty about this whole episode, but I didn't. Not when Alex and I went for coffee, in public, like normal people. Not when I hung out with him in his office, talking and laughing and being silly, spinning in his office chairs and firing elastic bands at one another, pretending to be seriously conversing when his colleagues walked by. Not even when I asked him if it felt weird to have me in his office, and he answered, no. It didn't feel weird at all. In fact, it felt like how it's supposed to be.

I didn't feel guilty when we said good-bye either, and he refused to say it. He wasn't going to say good-bye to me one more time. This time would be "see you in two weeks." No arguing.

"Just hurry up and get here, OK?"

I've always loved his optimism.