In 2010, I was seeing Duane*. My 10-year-old daughter knew I had gone out with him a few times, but she hadn’t met him. He and I had had a late lunch date and were getting into a little afternoon necking at home on my couch when I heard the mailbox open outside the front door. My daughter was supposed to be at her piano lesson, but she had obviously forgotten and come home. It was her job to check the mail, so I knew I had about four seconds to grab my top (fortunately, it was the only item of clothing that was off at the time) and dash upstairs to my bedroom. With ninja stealth and speed I jumped off the couch, scooping up my tossed clothing, and told my date that my daughter was home and he should pick up a magazine and put his bare feet up on the ottoman. He followed suit as I made it upstairs in the nick of time. I got my shirt on and came downstairs as if I had just popped up there to use the restroom. “Hello, Pumpkin. This is Duane. He just stopped by for a cup of tea. Did you forget your piano lesson today?” She was so flustered about forgetting her lesson she never gave his presence another thought. We all left immediately and Duane and I had a good laugh about it later.
*Name has been changed.