Christmas has just barely passed.
There is still wrapping paper bagged up on my back porch, waiting for garbage day. The crumbs of Santa’s cookies still cling to the cookie jar. The scent of eggnog still hangs heavy in the air.
New Year’s Day, and its preceding Eve, have yet to pass.
But I’m done.
I have had enough eating till I bloat, enough stores and restaurants open only on wacky schedules, enough of ceding precious living room space to a tree.
And enough of people to whom I am related.
I had a vague feeling of unrest today, the last day of my in-law’s stay at my house, this festive season.
I was starting to want my house back, to not have to ask if anyone wants tea, to be able to take up a whole couch and not feel one bit bad about it.
And then came the crystallizing moment.
I’d had to pee for quite a while. But stuff kept coming up, kids with questions, phones kept ringing, and it all conspired to keep me away from the bathroom.
Finally, it couldn’t wait. I’d left it too long, and as my Kegel muscles were starting to cry “Foul!”, I dashed up the stairs, undoing my pants as I went.
As I reached the bathroom door, my jeans were already around my ankles. My vision tunneled, and I focused on the toilet, already reveling in the relief.
But then, in my periphery…
was my father-in-law. Making a cell phone call in the only place in the house a person could find privacy – my bathroom.
And he tried to act like it didn’t happen, like he’d seen nothing.
But he did.
He saw it.
Whatever you call it, he saw it.
The festive season is over. And now I have to avoid eye contact till the next one.