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"  Ah, life, you do love to mess with me sometimes. That run-in with Peter&amp;#039;s mom has got to be one of my top-five most embarrassing moments (behind the time I bit it so hard in front of my entire high school at graduation, but in front of the time I ripped my jeans while trying to drop it low on the dance floor of a frat party.) I was literally wiping Peter&amp;#039;s saliva off my neck as I introduced myself to her. Peter&amp;#039;s mom&amp;#039;s name is Patty (short for Patricia), and to her credit, she did not look as disgusted by our behavior as any normal, slightly overbearing mother naturally would.  &amp;quot;So, Peter, I did call you to warn you I was here, but I assume it didn&amp;#039;t go through.&amp;quot; The service out here is terrible, I tried to text Ashley and couldn&amp;#039;t even get that to go through. &amp;quot;The Jeep&amp;#039;s engine is shot.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Again?&amp;quot; Peter asked.  &amp;quot;Again,&amp;quot; she ran her fingers through her white blonde hair, which was pulled back into a short ponytail. &amp;quot;So your father headed back but I&amp;#039;m sticking around for the day to get that all taken care of.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;You guys need to get rid of that thing already,&amp;quot; Peter said.  &amp;quot;Tell that to your father!&amp;quot; Patty threw her hands in the air. &amp;quot;Anyway, I won&amp;#039;t be in your way, I was just heading upstairs to take a nap.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;You&amp;#039;re not in our way,&amp;quot; I chimed in. I felt like I needed to say something other than, &amp;quot;Hi, my name is\u2026.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Thank you so much for having me this weekend.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Don&amp;#039;t think of it, Peter used to bring twenty of his friends up here for the weekend, and I miss having a full house.&amp;quot; She was smiling at the memory. For the first time I took her all in\u2014she was wearing a white polo shirt, khaki walking shorts, and golf shoes. I had assumed Peter&amp;#039;s mom would be some kind of glamorous Ellen Barkin type, but Patty was more like a tomboy. A really rich, WASPY tomboy.  After Patty went upstairs and we got our things situated in Peter&amp;#039;s room, Peter suggested going into town to get a drink.  &amp;quot;This place is like the Dorrian&amp;#039;s of Nantucket,&amp;quot; Peter said as we pulled into the parking lot. Dorrian&amp;#039;s is this bar in New York where you can pretty much count on running into every single person you ever went to college with.  Sure enough, as we approached the gazebo that acted as the bar, someone yelled, &amp;quot;Peter! Peter!&amp;quot; A woman with a baby strapped to the front of her was leaning over the edge of the railing, calling Peter&amp;#039;s name. You have a baby\u2026in a bar (yes that is a gratuitous Sweet Home Alabama reference).  &amp;quot;Oh my God, this girl Annette is a trip,&amp;quot; Peter warned me under his breath.  &amp;quot;Heyyy,&amp;quot; Peter said, uneasily, once we got closer. Annette had hurried to meet us at the entrance, and she threw her arms dramatically around him. The baby whimpered. Poor thing.  &amp;quot;I haven&amp;#039;t seen you in what? Five years?&amp;quot; Annette said, pounding his chest.  &amp;quot;Something like that,&amp;quot; Peter said. &amp;quot;Where&amp;#039;s Paul?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Oh, we&amp;#039;re separated right now,&amp;quot; she looked down at the baby. &amp;quot;Aren&amp;#039;t we Annabelle? We hate Daddy right now.&amp;quot; TM effing I. &amp;quot;And who are you?&amp;quot; Annette asked, grinning at me. Her teeth were cigarette yellow. &amp;quot;Or do you just stand there and look pretty?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m Josie,&amp;quot; I said. This chick was a trip.  &amp;quot;Cool,&amp;quot; she nodded at me. &amp;quot;Come, meet everyone!&amp;quot;  She dragged us through the crowd and started introducing us to her friends\u2014a bunch of guys who looked closer in age to me than they did to her.  &amp;quot;And this is Peter&amp;#039;s girlfriend, Josie,&amp;quot; Annette said.  &amp;quot;Oh, I&amp;#039;m not his girlfriend,&amp;quot; I said as I shook their hands.  &amp;quot;Aren&amp;#039;t you, though?&amp;quot; Peter&amp;#039;s tone was light, but he was looking at me boldly, challenging me.  &amp;quot;His friends with benefits then,&amp;quot; Annette laughed. Ugh!  &amp;quot;Whatever is in the middle of those two things,&amp;quot; I said, staring right back at Peter.  We stayed at The Tavern until it got dark, then stood in line at the only pizza place in town, and followed it up with a stop for ice cream. The whole time, I could feel The Talk brewing. I just wish Peter and I could be, without labels, exactly what we are. But isn&amp;#039;t the unofficial rule that once you meet someone&amp;#039;s mom, you&amp;#039;re officially his Gee-Eff? "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a10484/j-bedroom-blog-meeting-mama-peter/>