Lofty lunches

Not too long ago, my parents came over to my loft to have lunch. It was the first time they did this. They have never been over together for long periods of time. This time it was for several hours, and it included food.

Typically, my mother is the one who passes by, if only for a short bit. My father doesn’t come around because he doesn’t want to; not out of hatred, but he would rather act as a chauffeur to drop me off, than anything else (and he hates driving).

They arrived early and they went to work finishing off the meal they started at their home. This was the arrangement since they don’t think I can cook (even though I’ve been cooking since I went away to school several years ago).

Everything went off without a hitch. The food was good. The conversation was normal. They didn’t complain about how I’m ruining my life and how my choices are always the wrong ones.

The odd part of it all was how civilized they were. There was no fighting, no yelling or screaming. It was like a Norman Rockwell painting, only retrofitted for 2009.

I was so happy. I almost want to invite them over, again. For lunch.