Yet more proof that we have a long way to go...

My mom is the chair of the local democrats in one of the rural counties surrounding Smallcity. Their annual dinner was at the firehouse Saturday night. Being the proud Grandma that she is, she begged us to chauffeur Bigfella to dinner, and being the attentions whore mothers (and afficionados of southern cooking) that we are, we readily agreed. Dinner was fabulous: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, greens, sweet tea, biscuits and 8 kinds of pie, all homemade by the Ladies Firehouse Auxiliary. Yummm, fried chicken, sweet potato pie, coconut cream pie...

Anyway, I digress. We arrived at the firehouse, and Grandma promptly absconded with Bigfella, making the rounds to each table, thanking everyone for coming. Bigfella smiled and clapped, giving people five and giggling at them. We schlepped our stuff to a table and introduced ourselves to the lovely couple that was already sitting there.

Me: Hi! I'm [insert real name here]. My mom has our son with her.

Dyke Two was hooking the booster seat to the chair, but before I could introduce her, the woman said...

Random Woman at Dinner: [to Dyke Two] Oh, do you help her with the baby?
Me: [confused look on my face] Whhaa...
RWAD: Or are you a friend of theirs?
Me: No, [insert real name here]is my partner. She's Bigfella's mother, too.
RWAD: Oh. [awkward silence...]

We knew it would happen eventually, but we weren't expecting it that night, at the democratic dinner of all places. The woman we were talking with was not an active member of the committee. All of the committee members know that Dyke Two and I are a couple. They saw pictures of the wedding. They saw pictures of Bigfella's birth. But, this random woman didn't know. So she assumed (and with that came what always comes with assuming) that Dyke Two was the nanny. Don't we wish we had the money to hire one...