Tis the Season?

I don’t know why some feel that Christmas is the perfect time to get engaged. I’ve never had enough interest to research that. If I had, I might not be caught off guard when such customs insinuate themselves into my cloistered world.

The first came as little surprise. My son’s girlfriend had the full court press on for the holiday. Of course, she does for all holidays. Even Presidents’ Day. My son says it’s because of the circumstances of her childhood. I ascribe some weight to the fact that they’ve been going together for over three years, and she’s looking at it as more than a hobby.

They provided a modicum of edge to the big family party. I should say, patchwork family party since we don’t seem to permit divorces, blood feuds or homicides influence the invitation list. My ex likes to entertain big crowds.

I hadn’t met my nephew’s new bride, so she seemed a likely source for some unbiased theory. As it turns out, she’s Kurdish. Has this big, lumpy Polish face that looks like it should appear on the cover of “Collective Farming Monthly.” In contrast, from the neck down could easily front for “Victoria’s Secret.” It might’ve been. I could develop a taste for shrink wrap tight skirts, with a long slit to allow for some leg movement and a view of the vampire boots. Her belt would be a watchband on me.

Communication was somewhat challenging. She spoke English, but like Natasha of the old cartoon show. I beat back an insane desire to ask her if she knew where moose and squirrel were. She had enough challenges with this clan, without me adding to them.

I waxed philosophical about the path to matrimony and its implications. She cut me short. “Chris (my nephew) no longer makes pilaf for me. Not since we’ve been married.” She couldn’t mean the dish. Maybe it was Polish slang for a variation of hot monkey love. She must read minds. “Rice! I mean rice.” I started crafting my escape in hopes of not provoking an international incident.

My daughter is another issue. Her boyfriend had decided to test market his idea for a proposal on my son. There are varying opinions of him within the family council and my son didn’t want to get in the middle of this. He’s not a supporter, but didn’t want to stick his neck out. So, he told me. “You came to me with this because you’re hoping I’ll do something really aggressive and inane.”

“Would you? I’d appreciate it.”

I know my kids and didn’t think any interference was necessary. I had scheduled a dinner elsewhere to ensure reason for a timely escape.

My date was someone I’ve known for a long time. I felt like I had attained a safe haven.

“Do you ever think about marriage?”

I supposed I gulped my wine. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I heard you. I’m just not sure I understood it.”

“You did. Exactly what do you have against marriage?”

“Spouses stop making pilaf.” I’m a quick study.

“What?”

“Once you’re married, you don’t get pilaf anymore.”

“Don’t be fatuous. If you want to change the subject, just say so.”

“So.”

“Not so fast.”

As fate would have it, someone by the doorway caught my eye. She dashed over to the table and we hugged. She was an old neighbor. I introduced her. She said she had been meeting someone here for dinner, but he just called her and said he was ill. I invited her to join us.

I didn’t check to see if that earned me a look. No sense wasting energy.

To the best of my knowledge, we’re all still single. I’ll have to poll the troops after New Year.