Fried Chicken and Crock pots

Last night, Matt and I went to Target, he wandered up and down the aisles buying things like a crock pot, a shower cleaner, a clay chinese figurine of a dragon crunching down on a coin, and while we were doing this, he decided that it would be a good night to get fried chicken to eat while watching a movie.
The trip was fine by me, I only freaked out once when we started looking at dishes together, because in that aisle "Club Wedd" signs were stuck every 15 inches. That, and on top of it he was talking about when his parents were coming down next weekend what we would cook for them.
"We," "parents," "Club Wedd," and "next weekend," were all words that were making me light-headed. I chose to walk down the next aisle and I silently asked myself what was wrong with me. I never did this with EX. Then it struck me, EX's parents lived in India. I never had to meet them. I dated that man for two years and never once had to deal with the weekend visits, or the food cooking, or the general scariness of it all. I quickly ran through my other serious relationships, nope, all but one I had dumped before ever getting to the stage of meeting parents. The one I didn't dump was the man who had a kid in the next town, so it wasn't likely that I would have met his parents anyway.
Holy crap.
I'm 24 years old and I've never had to deal with meeting parents.
No wonder I'm fucked up.
After my self-help therapy session, I realized it was time for me to bite the bullet and grow up.
I walked back around the corner, and told him I had found the crock pots.
"Where did you go?" he asked.
I quickly explained how I had momentarily freaked out so I left him to go find the crock pots.
He gave me a funny look, but didn't say anything.
Maybe I am too honest.
So we got we came for, went and got fried chicken, and settled into his apartment with that and the movie "The Departed."
That movie is good, but LONG.
It was almost 1:30am before we finished it.
I was WIDE awake at that point, much to my disappointment (I had an eight thirty class this morning).
Matt looked sheepishly at me and said, "Can I open my crock pot box now?"
I laughed and asked him why on earth he was asking permission.
"I don't want you freaking out on me..." he said.
"I've grown up since then." I said.
He gave me a look, but gleefully ran over and got his Crock pot.
Sometimes I don't get that man, this weekend he's watched a dog show for an hour with me, played poker with his buddies while smoking a cigar, went to a tupperware party, and then Sunday bought a Crock pot so that we could cook all day without being in the apartment.
He's so random.