So assuming you made it through the fumbling first date after our excellent advice, it will soon be time to stumble over the parental thresh-hold and thrust your hand into the terrifying paws of ‘mummy and daddy’.  This is our guide to skate you through that initial encounter, and ensure you don’t partake in any hilarious Ben Stiller style japery.



Dress like a middle-aged music manager.  People on the business side of the pop industry never grow up.  Drug addled Peter Pans; they fly around Camden, hooking their snozzes around rolled up 20 pound notes.  Yet they still have mortgages and responsibilities, so manage to hit that perfect slant of parent dressing – trendy but sensible.  That’s the balance you need - really clean vans, slightly skinny jeans in old man moleskin fabric, and pressed Ramones T-shirts.

GIRLS: A flouncy dress, with a bit of cleavage, and not too much in the way of pan stick.  ‘Pan stick’ is what weird mums who whiff slightly of formaldehyde call make up, BTW.  Ultimately channel a cross between Little House on The Prairie, sensible “I will never hurt your son” vibes, with a bit of Lolita subtlety flung in.


Flirt with the parent of the opposite sex.
Obviously you don’t want to overdo it and cause Oedipal anxiety amongst all parties, but a bit of suggestive glass handling and dubious winking wouldn’t go amiss.  With dad’s it’s just a matter of laughing at all of their jokes and gently placing a hand on their arm, while with mums just talk about Grand Designs and compliment their cream furnishings.   Don’t go to far with the “cream” references though.  This is not the time for innuendo.


Don’t be too opinionated.
My friend read loads of Richard Dawkins and sexy atheist propaganda to build up a backlog of quotes and “ideas” to pedal at passers by in the hope of looking well smart n’ shit.  Unfortunately he was hit with a bad case of verbal dihorrea on meeting his girlfriend’s parents and nervously gabbled that God was a fallacy, and spirituality was just a comforting projection perpetuated by insecure losers with shriveling genitals.  “But enough of my intellectual posturing – tell me about your jobs.  Priest and Sunday school Teacher? Awesome.  Wow.  Hmm.  Well, I’ll just be going then, yeah I understand.  No you’re right we should probably break up…But just before I go - could you not have mentioned earlier your parent’s jobs? Considering you know my opinions on “god” and all that celestial bollocks (no offence intended by the air quotations around “god”, Mr. and Mrs. Coughlin, but he doesn’t exist and you two silly nonce’s should fucking learn to deal with it). What was that? You wanted to dump me but didn’t know how to? Great! No honestly, that’s great, you’re getting fat and your face is covered in bum fluff anyway. Well, ta ta everyone!”
(This is the actual transcription of that encounter).


Don’t have sex.
Some parents SEEM really laid back – they tell you to call them by their first name, make casual references to their sex life, and tease their kids about coming home stoned from parties when they were thirteen.  DON’T FALL FOR IT.  Parents are sneaky fuckers, and although you might think you’re in organic muesli, nudist camp, let’s all go to Glastonbury and sing dirty ditties all night land, you’re not.  If you drag your other half upstairs to make coital in their childhood bedroom (which for some reason is always really hot) you’ll face polo neck sweaters and intolerance over the breakfast jam and crumpets.  No matter how chillaxed those parental units are, they will still be standing at their babies bedroom door all night, glass pressed to the door, cursing your name under their judgmental breaths.  Keep that mouse in the house.


Leave quickly.
If it’s gone badly you might want to stay to amend those embarrassing comments and ill advised winks at Father.  Maybe if you stay a little longer you can charm them with a HILARIOUS party trick, or compliment more of their kitchen gadgets – “so this can open any jar, no matter what the size? AMAZING”.  OR, if it’s gone well you might feel like setting up camp, and spending the weekend - perhaps talking more about Mrs. Crabats gall bladder.  Mum fucking loved it when you took an interest in the gory surgery details.

What the fuck is your problem?  Get out of there, leave them alone, and continue your relationship with their offspring.  They’re just the parents.  Haven’t you noticed that your girl/boyfriend is looking pretty pissed at you for ignoring them all night, and why the fuck were you flirting with their dad/mum you sicko?  Sometimes you’re so weird.  Why are you’re so obsessed with impressing everyone all the time – what are you even wearing?  You hate the Ramones.  God, why are you so afraid to just be yourself?

LEAVE LEAVE LEAVE .  And maybe lie low for a few days.