Sometimes, I could really use a warning.

There are just some things that aren't meant to be discussed on the dinner table. At least, not yet. Or, make that, ever.

It was Jamie's graduation and I was invited for dinner in Annabel Lee's by the Peralejos in celebration. The dinner was lovely. We had clam chowder, salad and while everybody else had roast chicken and pasta, me, the meat lover than I am, had filet mignon. Carnivore na kung carnivore. But in as much as I loved the meat, it was by far not the highlight of my night.


Well, highlight not in the sense that it was happiness all over. The moment was very rattling, to say the least.

The boyfriend has this recent conviction to lead a healthy lifestyle. With much prodding by his mom, and with what happened to my father, he finally decided to go through the Weight Management Program in St. Luke's. The program worked and in just one month, he has lost about the same weight targetted for him to lose in 3 months. This accomplishment seemingly boosted the conviction and he is now considering an overhaul, which i lovingly termed "prettyfication".

During dinner, I found out that the next stop to prettyfying the boyfriend was with the orthodontist. My boyfriend is considering getting grills! The dentist suggested putting on braces to fix his underbite, which for three years that I have been with him, haven't notice. With a careful look, though it was hardly noticeable, he did had an underbite. I, of course, suggested that if he thinks he should get them, then he should do so, after all, I used to work the braces ages ago to fix my overbite. That once cured overbite is obviously as stubborn as the person who had it and eventually came back, but never did it bother me. Then Tita Beth, his mom, lets this loose.

"O di ok pala, he has an underbite, you had an overbite. When you have kids, they'll have perfectly aligned teeth."

Kids? When? How? Where? Why?

I got hold of my glass of water and washed down the last bite of meat I suddenly found hard to swallow.