Holiday With My Parents Part 2

Never mind the fact that I am 30ish; I will always be seen as my parents’ little girl until I am married. Which, apparently, my parents think is never going to happen.

My parents recently bought a condo, and furnished it for visits from the whole family. A bed big enough for my brother and his wife, bunk beds for the kids, space for my aunts and uncles, and me? I got my own room.

You know how it’s creepy to go back to your parents’ house after a decade of living away from home to find your childhood room preserved as your room? Imagine your parents preserving that space when they move into their new condo.

But I showed nothing but appreciation as I knew that their motivation was that they wanted me to always feel welcome. Then they proudly showed me the furniture they bought for my room. There was no bed.

To be specific, there was a big fluffy chair that, when you removed the bottom cushion, revealed a mattress that folded out into a single bed.

“And look at this!” my dad said. “The ottoman flips open, and that’s where you store the linens! Isn’t that neat?”

I know what happened. My parents were out shopping for a whole bunch of furniture, they saw this, they thought, “What a neat idea!” which was quickly followed by, “Would this fit any of our needs?”

But I stared at my new chair/bed and thought, “My parents think I’m going to be single forever.”

A little too slow with the positive reaction that was expected of me, my father asked, “So, do you like it? Here, did you see the ottoman? It’s where you keep the linens!”

Holiday With My Parents Part 1

My preverbal cold shower is hanging out with my parents. God forbid I lose my job and have to move home. Then I would be living at home AND asexual. Yeep.

This holiday-sanctioned hanging out with parents had a new dimension to it, however. There was the usual cringing at the kiss scene(s) in every holiday movie my parents and I watched. But there was an additional bucket of cold water thrown on my growing frustration at singlehood. With my parents’ 40-plus year marriage on display in front of me, bemoaning my status was quickly turned into, “Jesus Christ, what’s my hurry?”

My parents are well matched. Where it counts, weaknesses in the character of one is made up for in an overabundance of that trait in the other, and there is a great balance of give and take in their marriage. Most importantly, they’re happy together.

Don’t worry; this isn’t going to turn into a belabored prose version of “I Want a Girl Just Like the Girl that Married Dear Old Dad.” In addition to her myriad wonderful qualities that should qualify her for sainthood, my mother frets to the point of a low-level whimpering whenever anyone else is driving. My father’s jabbing humor is funny about 20 percent of the time, and he scratches his balls more than any daughter would like to see.

I could go on, but I don’t mean to skewer, just to illustrate that after a few days of witnessing my parents’ marriage I came to this conclusion: I better be damn sure. If I’m really going for one of these “in it for the long haul” relationships, I better be damn sure that I love the person enough to put up with the ball scratching, or that I am not bothered by constant low-level whining from my passenger. The humor thing would probably be a deal breaker before date two.

I was happy to be given the larger perspective. True, I haven’t had a good date in a very long time. But any rush is my own creation, and my punishment would likely be a lifetime of ball scratching.

Damn Mistletoe.

At a party a few years ago I shoved a guy up against a wall and kissed him. It wasn’t a romantic thing or an attraction thing; it was to show him who was boss. (It made sense at the time -- just go with it.)

I have often seen this gentleman in the intervening years in common friend-of-a-friend type situations. At first I think he was intimidated by me and waiting for the next impulsive semi-inappropriate attack. But we soon settled into your garden variety power dynamic of looking for ways to stick it to the other person while pretending to be friends. We would hurl insults at each other, loudly make fun of each others’ lovelife (or lack thereof), all under the pretext that we were picking on each other like friends do. But I believe it was clear to all onlookers that there was a clear struggle for dominance. Or maybe the struggle for dominance was only on my side.

I have no idea how I fell into such a pattern, but it likely started years and years ago when I met him. Add a little attraction to the mix, and you have me throwing him up against a wall and kissing him. Did I mention that I then fake punched him in the stomach and walked away? Yup. Classy, all the way.

It was just a matter of time before the tables were turned. And oh how they turned.

We ended up at a holiday party together where Christmas had exploded. Of course there was mistletoe, and I did a fairly good job of avoiding it until it was time to leave. You can guess the next part: I was thrown up against a wall and assaulted with kisses while the other holiday revelers hooted and hurrayed. And then, as if it was nothing at all, he walked away.

Next kicks in my side of the power dynamic. And hey, I have the attention of everyone at the party. “That wasn’t even a good kiss!” I yelled at him as he walked away. Bad move. This was a challenge, and he turned and came after me again.

This power dynamic started so long ago I can’t remember what triggered it. But what puzzles me is why I kept it up for so long. Although I saw him infrequently, we kept this up for years. I wasn’t getting anything out of it, and moreover it’s rather exhausting to be caught up in a power dynamic like that. And furthermore, I’m a caring person! Why wasn’t I showing that side of myself to him? It was time to let go of any hang ups I had about appearing to be in control. And for letting go, hey, how about this very moment?

We had an amazingly hot kiss under the mistletoe. Onlookers later commented on their jealousy. There was a rhythm to it. There was a cadence. It was as if we were having a conversation with each other that ended with us drawing out the last words in perfect agreement. There was also deafening cat calling coming from all sides.

The first moment I drop all attempts at showing I’m more in control than he is, and I am thoroughly rewarded. Any benefits of a power dynamic can’t hold a candle to that. And that, kids, is the moral of the story of The Hot, Hot Kiss Under the Mistletoe. Merry Christmas!