Tuesday, November 9, 2010

An Opereta

I sometimes feel like Martin and my relationship is like an opera…with so much stacked against us (long distance, language, location of family, my love of crown molding and his desire for clean lines) only our love keeps up together. And with so many differences, I was just slightly anxious about our parents meeting for the first time this past weekend in San Francisco. It had the makings of a great opera – my loud boisterous, but genuine Californian parents meeting Martin’s soft spoken, more proper but equally kind hearted German parents, potentially determining the fate of Martin and my happiness for years to come.

Act 1, the Breuer Family SF sightseeing tour, went flawlessly and my nerves began to relax despite the looming meeting. And during intermission, things were looking good. The location for dinner was decided, reservations were made and even better I had found a place that met all of my requirements – decent location, San Francisco classic charm, good food and quiet enough to alleviate some of the potential language barrier. Now we just needed to show up and not say anything completely offensive or stupid.

But alas, like all good operas, Act 2 always throws in a few obstacles. Just before leaving for dinner, my mood went from slightly calm back to slightly anxious and insecure and a minor misunderstanding had the potential for an international crisis. Thankfully, true to German form, Martin remained calmed and was able to pull me back together in time for the first hug, kiss, kiss greetings.

The food, drinks and conversations all went down perfectly, including a few jokes from Martin’s mom and my mom’s interesting fun facts of California. And the stories of traveling (both in Europe and the Americas) prompted a discussion of visiting Germany including Martin’s dad promising a 50km+ “Beer Road” in Franken, Germany which boasts the highest concentration of breweries in the world and my dad’s desire to experience it.

Dinner ended quickly, thanks to the good company (and bottle of wine), and the curtain closed before the fat lady sang or someone suffered an unintentional, tragic death.

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