I’m really trying to get in shape because I want to look my very best when I meet my son’s fiancée. Of course, he hasn’t even met her yet so there’s no real hurry, but you never can tell – she could waltz into his life this afternoon; it could be love at first sight and there could be a proposal by next weekend. I for one am not about to be caught flat-footed, which is precisely why "Operation ‘Someday-Mother-of-the-Groom’” is officially underway!
Because we’re talking major overhaul here, there are several items that need my attention, starting with my nails. Obviously the primary objective is to be able to extend my hand warmly and graciously when I greet the young lady – a gesture that, trust me, is going to require some serious restraint on my part because my first instinct is to fling my arms around her neck as I tearfully exclaim, "Thank GOODNESS you’re finally here!” And if this causes her to start backing toward the door, I’m fully prepared to use the old bullwhip-around-the-ankles to prevent her escape. But assuming this won’t be necessary and I can control myself enough to simply shake her hand, I want my nails to be lovely. This means that from now until the time we meet, I’ve got to avoid all potential cuticle-damaging household chores completely, as this is the only way to assure that all ten of my fingernails remain long and perfectly-manicured.
Next comes whitening my teeth. You know, it’s really a shame I didn’t get a bigger head start on this one, but that would have meant choosing to not become a coffee drinker way back in 1973, and frankly at the time it never occurred to me that there would someday be a price to pay for curling up with a steaming mug of caffeine-laced nirvana. Turns out there is a price to pay, and it comes to $21.80 for seven consecutive days of goop-in-a-tray. So far I haven’t seen one ounce of improvement, but I’m going to diligently keep at it until the day I am introduced to this wonderful (albeit elusive) girl, or until my checkbook runs dry, whichever comes first. If all else fails, I’ll dab on a touch of White-Out at the last minute and try to keep my lips peeled back.
Unfortunately, forking out twenty bucks a week for whiter teeth means cutting the budget somewhere else, and in this case it’ll have to be hair color – not that I was likely to go that route anyway. I’m pretty much married to the gray. Still, I wouldn’t mind a new "do” for the occasion, if only I could make up my mind about style. One day I’m all "Ooh, I should totally whack it off like Jamie Lee Curtis!” and the next I want one of those severe wedges with the long swoopy sides. I think maybe the best thing to do is start out uber short and just let it keep growing until my son gets engaged – taking into account that if this "blessed event” doesn’t happen soon, I could very well end up with hair swirling around my ankles.
Finally there’s my weight. It occurs to me that similar to whitening my teeth, this is an area in which I’d have helped myself tremendously by getting to work on it a little bit earlier – say about forty years earlier. In other words, if I’d started opting for rice cakes over pork chops back when I still had a waist, I might still have a waist. As it is I find myself faced with the daunting task of transforming my current manatee self into the eel self I want to be when I meet my someday daughter-in-law, and believe me it isn’t going to be easy. In fact, this is one case where I wouldn’t mind it if the girl took her sweet time in getting here. But if she should happen to show up before I’ve had a chance to drop the pounds, let’s just say I hope she’s the kind of person who accepts people for who they are, not for who they’re trying to be, just to impress someone else!
Well, I guess that’s about it – my comprehensive ‘Someday-Mother-of-the-Groom’ makeover plan. There are only three things left to do before I meet my son’s fiancée: 1. buy a whole new wardrobe; 2. completely redecorate the house; and 3. figure out a way to get HIM to meet her!