Wait, is that what I think it is?

So this is my first ever blog.  Which makes me want to do a really, really good job so millions of people will want to read it and I will be famous and awesome.  That was a terrible sentence but I'm gonna go with it, kay?  I wish I was writing this blog from somewhere fantastic, like sitting in a hotel in an exotic location, or a coffee shop in Paris.  But no, I'm in a little town in Oregon, sitting in my living room.  There is not much exciting to do in this size, unless you're a big fan of cow tipping.  Not so much.  I'm like 100 pounds soaking wet.  So here goes, my shot at an awesome blog :)

Some time ago, it was time to take my (former) boyfriend to meet my folks.  Folks being my dad and my stepmom, if you really want to know.  I don't take boys to meet my mother.  More on that at a later time.  Anway, we make the two hour trip to meet the fam.  Of course I was nervous, because I'm really close to my dad, and it matters to me what he thinks.  I was head over heels take me to the altar in love with this boy, so I really wanted my dad to like him.  The actual meeting part went fine, normal, no big deal.  Boyfriend, meet Dad.  Dad, meet Boyfriend.  No problems there.  No, the problem arose when Boy needs to use restroom.  Being the nice, accomodating girlfriend that I was, I led him down the hall, past the spare bedroom, where he draws up short.  Of course, the door is open.  And, of course, there is a pole floor to ceiling.  Yes, a stripper pole.  Dear Lord in Heaven, give me strength.  How in the world am I supposed to explain that??? 

Boy:  Is that what I think it is?

Me:  Yes, I think it is.

Boy:  Why is there a stripper pole in your dad's house?

Me:  ....................um................. (At this point, my brain completely ceased to function.  The only thing I could picture was my stepmom and the pole.  Ugh.  And I was supposed to sleep in this room?)

Boy:  Nevermind, I have to pee.  Maybe you could do a little dance for me later.  (He proceeds to waggle his eyebrows up and down.  Ha.)

Oh yeah, that's exactly what I'm going to do.  Rub my lady parts on a pole.  Where my stepmom has been rubbing hers.   Where do I sign up? 

You would think the pole in itself would have been enough humiliation for one trip, but no.  The true shame came when my poor unsuspecting dog started licking the pole.  Good grief... Now, I already knew my family was freaking weird, but a stripper pole? Really?  What's next?  Goats?