Happy Holidays: How Low Can You Go?

Going home for the holidays is always a mixed bag of emotions.  It's nice to see the relatives, suck in the air of the town that helped you grow, sharpen your wits and your tongue with good old family banter, but its inevitable--there's always that one person you dread seeing, that one specific topic of conversation you'd give your life to avoid, that one day too long you wind up staying, and that not-so-comfortable, not-so-private air mattress you try to get some rest on.  Well, this year wasn't the normal flood of family faux pas.  In fact, aside from my twenty-five year old brother nagging me about how me and my current boyfriend better get cracking on delivering him nieces and nephews (mind you, HE is the one engaged, NOT me...), it was fairly tame.

There was the ritual family game night with all the normal drama men pouting like moody five year boys when they're not winning, the overstuffing of all competent mouths huddled around the Christmas dinner table, the annual arrival of my boyfriend from his family's Christmas in Long Island to spend the two days after with my family, the new country hick/Sarah Palin teaching the city boy (my boyfriend) how to shoot rifles, shotguns and bayonetted Russian assault weapons moment, and the freak snowstorm that shut down most of the entire East Coast. Yeah, a completely normal and neutral Christmas. That is, until I found myself on the verge of begging my brother to let me in on all the couples' secret rendezvous hotspots—you know, all those places where teenagers or young adults still living with their parents go to get it on without being caught.  Here I was, nearly thirty years old, temporarily staying  under my mother's roof, hadn't seen my man in several days, and my hormones were raging in desperate need of some action—without the parental units around.  And, what was worse, I was asking my little brother-- my asexual, never touched a girl in his life (although he's engaged), still a virgin in my mind, little brother, for the best places to go to get it on with my man . It was disturbing, it was embarrassing, it was ew-inspiring... it was an all-time holiday low. Next year, I'm getting a hotel room.

By the way, Happy New Year!

Content Copyright 2010. Ami Lovelace. All Rights Reserved.