Twas a household so filled with furniture and such huge, purposeless items, you felt as an intruder to the walls- just for breathing in what little oxygen was able to find dwelling in their small empty spaces. A household in which the dogs were the worst behaved you’d ever encountered, and God forbid you tell any one of them, “for Christ’s sake just please stay down”, for you put yourself at risk of being overtly scrutinized by a tween with a condescending tone and a stink eye, “Do you even like pets?”
Don’t get me wrong, I love spending holidays at my dad’s. As much as one can love spending time pretending to appreciate that their childhood was stolen when they were 12 and cashed in for a New Wife/New Life, 50% off if you ACT NOW.
Twas a household so filled with furniture and such huge, purposeless items, you felt as an intruder to the walls- just for breathing in what little oxygen was able to find dwelling in their small empty spaces. A household in which the dogs were the worst behaved you’d ever encountered, and God forbid you tell any one of them, “for Christ’s sake just please stay down”, for you put yourself at risk of being overtly scrutinized by a tween with a condescending tone and a stink eye, “Do you even like pets?”
Don’t get me wrong, I love spending holidays at my dad’s. As much as one can love spending time pretending to appreciate that their childhood was stolen when they were 12 and cashed in for a New Wife/New Life, 50% off if you ACT NOW.
My Dad started planning his second marriage before his first one was over, which obviously made for a sloppy transition and a lot of unanswered questions. He spent Christmas Eve as himself, then left shortly after, explained that his new girlfriend “wouldn’t understand” why he was with his family for the holidays. As if she were the child, and my brother and I were the adults left alone on Christmas because we’d chosen to interrupt someone else’s life.
We all make our own choices; the consequences too, are none but our own.
So here I am, surrounded by my aunts at the dinner table. I’m staring at my beer glass. Year after year of the same bullshit. You realize it doesn’t even matter if you act interested or not, the show must go on. My aunts, bless their souls, are alert. Ears perked, eyes focused. One of them is really good at pretending, because I occasionally feel her eyes on me, waiting to exchange and exhausted look. I push my beer glass towards her, and she drinks a few sips before pushing it back. I lift my eyes to share a smirk. For 12 years we’ve been listening to the Cheri Show. Listening to my dad’s wife talk about her thoughts and feelings- mostly on the topic of functions of our extended family. What she doesn’t like, and what she doesn’t like even more than that. Sometimes personal anecdotes.
Once on the 4th of July, she brought up the time in high school that my aunt’s boyfriend killed himself because he was gay. My aunt had left the table to dry her watery eyes.
“What?” my dad’s wife sips her margarita, “it happened.”
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Wild Little Hare 