meet the parents

When Spring was here in the week (tending the sick) the door knocked. To my horror in marched Vic and Yvonne. My parents.
When you're younger it's always embarrassing to display your love interest to your parents. Their knowing little smiles (or not if the man of your choice is a 6 foot biker with a tattoo of Satan on both arms) but when you're my age (36) it's even more embarrassing.
My mother gushes "Oh helllloooo how lovely to meet you"
My father sits and stares and finding some common ground (trains) starts to tell Spring that the Somerset and Dorset Rail used to go through Whitchurch (which is wrong)
My mother then proceeds to make tea (I never offer beverages it makes them stay longer)
Sit down, feet under the table and settle down for the duration.
Spring stood up. Stooped but upright in his own stoopy way.
Mother began a tale of Auntie Doris whose in the BRI (local sick place) with some illness that required a four pint blood transfusion.
I cringed waiting for the inevitable "So what DO you do? How much do you earn? How old are you?"
They did get to the age question and I told them he was 65. I think my dad believed me because I saw him double take Springs face.
(He DOES look terribly aged though)
Then my nerves would not stand another second and I said
"You leaving then?"
Mother made some comment on not finishing her tea, commented on the price of a scale and polish these days and got up and left.
Lets hope that NEVER happens again.