Burp

We still have guests. Nieces and nephew and a niece's friend. The friend is young PIL**. It's been a long time since I've interacted with one of these and I must say, I'd forgotten what a bore they can be.

You'd think that a romance writer would be more sympathetic. Heck, I should probably sit the girl down and interview her. Does your heart actually beat faster when you see your adored one? Do you think of the object of your desire when you first wake up? Can you see anything interesting and not immediately think of how you're going to relate it to her? (they're PILLs**)

Fact is, I rarely see our houseguest. She's usually hiding in her bedroom IMing the object of her desire or talking to her on the phone. We're talking deeply, deeeeeeply in love. The guest has missed a couple of meals because of this obsession. She panicked when we went to the movie theater and discovered she didn't have her cell phone--turned out she did. And of course, part way through Harry Potter, she had to leave the theater. Okay, maybe she went to the bathroom, but I did see her holding the cell phone.

I've considered being pissy about this lack of interest in being a part of the holiday group (I did get pissy about missing dinner tonight) but then . . . oops, I recall being a PIL myself, more than once--though the last time was about a thousand years ago.

I was far worse.

When I couldn't talk to the object of my desire, I insisted on talking about him. Our current PIL is spacy in company but doesn't mention her lover every other sentence or bore us with stories about how wonderful she is. I pulled out my lover's name whenever I could, usually citing him as some kind of expert on whatever the subject at hand was. The niece's friend doesn't do that, and she's reasonably pleasant company when she does appear. She even apologized for being so distracted. In fact she's nice enough that I hope to meet her again some day--once the fever stage of love has passed.

The worst of me was when I was 15 or 16 and in lurve with eric. I distinctly recall spending Thanksgiving in New York City and feeling as if all the people around me were hardly worth my time and effort to speak to because they weren't him. Oh. Lord.

I interact with our guest, a much more pleasant version of a PIL, and I cringe.

Aunt Henriette? If you ever read this blog? I'm really, really sorry.

_________

**person in love

***people in love, lesbian

Comments

  1. Oh, man, I cringed! The worst part is that when you're a PIL you feel like you are doing your utmost to be civil and normal and not mention your beloved EVERY TIME YOU OPEN YOUR MOUTH, and even with all the restraint you can come up with, it's still sickening.

    I think I'm like that about my kid now.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Oooh, I remember it well. I'm convinced it was all beyond my control. Some sort of hormonal/neurochemical trap that made my mind that way; and it was such a powerful neural loop that it's still there way in the background, rolling on and on, like a hamster on a wheel, saying, "Pay attention to me! I don't care if it was 25 years ago!"

    I often wonder how people who marry their first loves manage to survive the inevitable crash.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Oh God. I even have a diary and letters from the time I was a PIL.
    I think it's amazing I could even write - it was likte someone had ripped my brain out and replaced it with MUSH.
    LOL.
    Can you say Cringe?
    Your PIL sounds delightful, lol.

    ReplyDelete
  4. oh my!If it's any consolation, I was the same way about you, a thousand years ago, it was a wonder I kept my cars running some of the time. Remember the teachers told you to lay off me so I could think about school a little?

    ReplyDelete
  5. yeah, why is it embarrassment has such a long shelf life? I mean of all the emotions out there why oh why can we summon up ancient embarrassment so easily? why not, say, youthful enthusiasms? or contentment? Sheesh.

    HEY eric! duh, I recall Joe pulling me aside and telling me to let you work, you boy genius. No one seemed too worried about ME, I recall.

    ReplyDelete
  6. joe? who's joe? I just remember you!
    I think I can still bring up some of the more pleasant emotional responses, though embarrassment is pretty vivid. thanks again for ignoring joe (whoever he is) and saving my life in high school.

    ReplyDelete

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