[This final guest blogger is actually a journalism nerd friend from college who's been blogging at Word Is Born since 2005. That's like super early in blog time. Unless you're Dooce. Let's be honest, he might be the reason I started blogging in the first place. But that still doesn't mean he's "Gods Gift to Blogging," as he likes to call himself. *Groan* But ladies, he's male. So of course he needs our wise wisdom and advice since we are the Alpha gender. Could you imagine your boyfriend's parents (or perhaps your ex-boyfriend's parents, if you're single) coming to stay with you for TEN DAYS. Not eye, said the Blind Mouse. Huh? Is that the saying? Anyway, help a brother out. How can Paolo survive 10 days with his new girlfriend's parents? (Even if they are proclaimed angels). ]

I’ve been dating my girlfriend, Amanda, since July and it’s been a wonderful whirlwind of a relationship. By December, I spent Christmas with her family at her hometown in Indiana (I’m from and live in Seattle) and I purchased a home in Tacoma that we’re moving into later this month.

Last week, Amanda sprung upon me that her parents bought their plane tickets to Seattle, which is great and something we’ve planned for.

“Sweet action,” I said. “When are they coming?”

“April 29,” she replied.

“Cool. How long are they staying?” I asked, assuming we’d entertain them for a long weekend, which is the standard parental visit term in Washington State.

“Um, I think they leave May 9.”

Whoa. I wouldn’t expect my own parents to stay 10 days (nor would I allow it)! Parental visit terms must be extended in Indiana.

“That’s cool,” I replied calmly, masking my anxiety.

No matter how great you get along with your girlfriend’s parents, and I love these people like family, there’s still an uneasy instinct about entertaining them. This has been the case since the beginning of time. Surely Adam was scared shitless of Eve’s dad, God, which is where the term “God-fearing man” originated.

After my initial shock, I had to remind myself that I am GOOD with parents. I am that not-so-edgy, polite young man that mothers pray for and fathers can tolerate. It’s always been that way. I can remember that sometimes the least awkward part of a high school dance was waiting with the parents while my date spent extra time finding the right bra for the dress, covering up tan lines, or contemplating if wearing the matching shoes would be worth the blisters.

Also, I’ve got home court advantage. This is my house, after all, and I can control the environment of the visit — When we eat, what we eat, where we go, when we go. You want to watch 60 Minutes? Sorry, we’re watching Lost!

I can set up traps for rooms I don’t want them to be in… Home Alone-style: “This is my house, I have to defend it.”

I really should be more optimistic though. Amanda’s parents are absolute angels and they’re coming over to help us renovate. In fact, they’ve promised to complete a house project for my birthday. They’re not playing against me on my home court — they’re on my team. And, they’re fixing the rim at halftime.

Still, this will be a long 10 days. It’s tough hosting anyone for that long, right? Amanda’s parents only see her a couple weeks a year and it’s a long trip from Indiana, which justifies the trip duration. We owe them, too, as we stayed at their house for that many days — three of them without power — over the holidays.

I just need to stay focused on my game and prepare the house and myself, FTW.

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