Kissing the Lipless

Help! I’ve eaten my way through Massachusetts and I can no longer button my pants. No, ah, seriously. I mean, they fit now because they’ve grown with me, but when I wash them, and they’re all stiff and shrunken? I. Am. Toast. Buttered toast, to be exact, because I’ve had plenty of that, among other things, including coffee with actual cream, and when was the last time you did that?

(So good.)

I’ve taken the lowbrow Boston-area culinary tour, if you will, for I have eaten, in no particular order: the entire contents of a deep-fried pu pu platter, plus fried rice and lo mein (and plenty of that pink pork loin basted with Ah So sauce, which seems horribly racist in a Mickey Rooney/Breakfast at Tiffany’s sort of way, yes?); a caramelized onion cheeseburger at Joe’s on Newbury; nachos; incredibly delicious pizza from some mysterious Newton pizzeria and … I’ll stop there, as I’m getting hungry.

We’ve seen lots of family, but it’s never enough, really. It’s frustrating how that works, isn’t it? When you’re with them, it’s wonderful and you swear to see each other more often, but then you don’t, because you get too busy and because, well, you’re an idiot. Or at least I am, because I need to see everyone a lot more often. I have four delicious nephews growing like weeds and Adam’s grandpa won’t be around forever, which is a fact I steadfastly refuse to accept, for I love him so much I get teary eyed when I see him. I also touch him a lot and always go for two kisses at the end our time together, and I tell him I love him a whole lot, but the thing is, I do. A whole lot.

And hi ho! Speaking of lovely family, so during the pizza portion of our show on Saturday, Adam’s aunt took me aside into one of the back bedrooms of her home saying she “had to tell me something.” I really honest and truly had NO IDEA where she was going with this, and I never would have guessed if you paid me, like honestly, NEVER. She took my hands and blurted out:

“I … I found and read your blog.”

And let me tell you folks, I DIED. I nearly fell over. I turned bright red from my legs to my scalp and clapped my hand over my mouth and just DIED. There is nothing else to say, for once again, I AM DEAD.

And then she said she’s been wondering how to tell me (which is awful, I mean, why would she feel like it’s on HER to feel awkward? I SHOULD BE WEARING THE AWKWARD, NOT HER), and she was so complimentary and kind and said she was very proud of me and it was … it was really touching, I can’t explain it, and I was sort of choking back tears. Especially because I have always genuinely liked her so much (and I’m not just saying that because she’s reading. You’d like her, too), so it … it meant a lot, it really did. And then, because I am weirdly conditioned by what’s happened to so many bloggers who got busted by their families — especially their in-laws — I reflexively announced that I would NEVER write anything bad about anyone because I WOULD NOT DO THAT.

This is patently true, of course, and I have said this before, but what horrified me was that it seemed to imply that I had LOADS of awful things to say about her and her family, but was HOLDING THEM BACK FOR THE SAKE OF BLOGGY RESPECT. When THIS IS NOT TRUE. I love her whole family and I think she knows that, but if you’d heard me, you probably would have wondered what dark feelings I’ve been keeping a secret. Which is to say, none.

I am very smooth, you see.

This, by the way, is the same reaction I have when readers recognize me, something that’s happened all of twice, and once doesn’t count, really (it’s a long story). I go into SUPER-AWKWARD HAND-TALKY MODE, and though there are plenty who wonder, is she telling the truth about her awkwardness? Alert reader Stephanie in particular can vouch that yes, I really am that awkward, especially if caught off-guard. I also hug strangely and announce, “I’m hugging you!” as I hug you, which is terribly obvious and also too late to serve as a warning, because the hug is upon you, you cannot refuse.

Speaking of hugs, I also feel compelled to add that Adam’s cousin (son of aforementioned aunt) was the recipient of one of the most awkward hugs of my life a few years ago — so much that it’s affected how I hug him to this day. He leaned in for the hug, I thought he was going for the cheek kiss, and I ended up planting one right in the crook of his neck and worse, I had to point it out, like I was picking at a scab.

“Oh my God, I just kissed your neck. See, I thought you were going for the cheek, but you were hugging and … Oh.” This would have been less awkward if he wasn’t completely adorable and was instead, goofy and hump-backed, I don’t know why. I suppose because I didn’t want to seem like the lecherous older woman married to his cousin, no less, trying to kiss his neck when no one was looking, like some creepy cougar waiting to pounce. It was an ACCIDENT.

I haven’t outed myself to the whole family, by the way, for no good reason, really. I’m not really ashamed of anything here, and in fact, pretty much blurt these things out in real life to anyone. My mother, I’ve been meaning to tell for years, and I’ll be honest in that the only reason I haven’t, is that I know she’d worry. I come so close, and then I think of the questions and her worry that someone will beat me in my sleep with a frozen zucchini and run off with my dog. My mother won’t buy anything over the Internet, as she’s afraid that someone will steal her identity and take all of her money, so writing on the Internet, oh my sweet Lord, I don’t … I don’t know if she’s up for processing that without staying awake nights, but someday, I intend to find out.

Plus, doesn’t it feel awkward to bust out with, “I have a blog, please pass the potatoes!” at a family dinner? (For Keeps, with Molly Ringwald. Oh, I love that movie.)

There’s more, there’s always more, but I’ve tortured you enough, and I’m afraid this is terribly boring. Except I also want to say that if you happen to see someone rolling around New England in too-small pants — on her side, perhaps, like Violet heading to the juicing room — it’s me. And if I still have a cheese stick in my hand, would you be so kind as to cruelly rip it away from me and tell me to stop eating, to think of the CHILDREN or something? And then I’ll announce, “I’m hugging you!” while my fat sausage arms wind their way around your neck, which I will find a way to kiss, although that was not my intention. It’ll be fun.

Have a great Monday!

(P.S., It wasn’t a random find, to those who are harboring deep-seated panic of familial discovery. Adam’s other cousin (not the daughter of this aunt, but same side) has a family-known blog and has read me for years and linked to me, though I’d never thought about it much, but now that I do, it’s a total no-shitter. Like, um, of course? Do I have two brain cells to piece things together myself? APPARENTLY NOT. In other words, this will not necessarily happen to you. I know I’d be wondering if I were you and would be all, PANIC PANIC ALERT ALERT WOOP WOOP. And if it does happen to you, I hope it’s as pleasant as this was.)

*The Shins

21 comments April 27th, 2008