It's Not A Sin If We're Married, Right?

The first day with the mother in law, I have to admit, went pretty damn well.  The Donor headed out to the airport to pick her up with the kids at noon, leaving me two hours to frantically clean everything I've ignored for a year take a shower, get dressed, and relax.  3of3, who hasn't seen her gramma since she was 5 months old, took all of 30 seconds to warm right up to her.  We had a late lunch, a later dinner, an awesome gift exchange, Ding Dongs for dessert and then everyone headed to bed.

I'm sitting on the couch right now looking over the laptop at my husband.  A shockingly large pile of Kit-Kats separates us.  He's got the UFC on; I've got the blog up.

Good god, I have never wanted to jump on someone so bad in my whole life.

I remember when I was young and just starting out in the world of doing it.  I was 19, engaged to a fabulous boy (who will hate me for writing this, sorry) and living at home with my parents.  He was, too, but my parents were a bit more open-minded than his (understatement of the year) and so we spent most of our time at my house.  We made most of our time at my house.  We got really good at sneaking around, at being quiet, at hiding that shit.  We never once got caught, even when we were doing things on the dining room table 20 minutes before the dear old parents came home from work that no one should be doing on one's parents dining room table, even when we were right in the middle of the living room when the dear parents were upstairs watching tv.  We were stealthy, and yeah, it was totally fun.  Maybe it was the whole 'it's more exciting when you don't have permission' thing, or maybe I'm just a perv.  Bygones.

Either way, here I am, 14 years later with my husband's mother sleeping one wall away from us, and I have to keep eating Kit Kat after Kit Kat just to keep myself busy enough to not pounce on this poor, unsuspecting man.  I really can't explain it; it's just that damn naughty factor that is always my undoing.

We really need to get that hotel room already.

I have this $50 gift certificate for Smarty Pig, which is an online, FDIC insured, short term savings account thingy that I won from Jeremy at Discovering Dad which I could totally put to use saving for a lovely weekend getaway, except the damn thing only works for Americans.  Pshaw.  So, whoever shares the best 'dear god we need/needed/will be in need of a hotel room story' gets it.

Do your parents live with you?  Are they coming to visit?  Did you lose something rather important to you on Sunday, January 16th, 1994 while your dad was right above you upstairs cooking bacon and eggs?  Leave your story in the comments, and the juiciest story wins on Friday.