the guy who lives here

(Door clicks, then opens)

LADY (clearly startled):  I'm sorry, but... who are you?

ME:  (suddenly sit up from the couch, equally startled)  Oh, sh-t.
I mutter under my breath and wonder silently if she was the housekeeper.  But she kind of had a refinement about her.  Ugh.  So maybe not.  
Ci...cimone, my name is Cimone.  I timidly inform her upon finding my voice.  
I am a friend of the guy who lives here.  I'm crashing for a couple of weeks.


LADY (looks pointedly at me):  I see.  I am the mother of the guy who lives here.  


Oh-kay.  Great.  We dub him 'the guy who lives here?' 
I finally stood up from the couch and straightened my tank top and running shorts.  Fancy meeting his mom looking like crap..  
ME:  I was actually on my way out.  I was gonna go for a run and meet the guy who lives here (once again) at around 7.  
I look at my watch which tells me I've a good two hours to run, come back by 6:30pm and be done by the meeting time.

I stand beside the lady (AKA mom) and shake her hand, once again embarrassed to be the weakest link.  
I smile and ask if she needed any help with anything or if she had any messages for the guy that lived there, and she gently shakes her head.  As i turn to go, she shoots another question at me.


LADY:  Uhmm...you two...Is it serious?  


The question shook me... so much so that I wake up suddenly.  I am back in my room and the TV is still on. I turn it off.  What a weird dream.  
Now my question is, who the hell is "the guy who lives here?"