Oh, lord almighty. You decided to do it – go home to your parents’ place for the holidays. Given COVID, you were a bit hesitant, but you’re going to get tested, rent a car, and not stop at any rest stops along the way…for the five-hour drive. Given how much coffee you drink on the daily, it’s going to be hard to keep that dam closed, but your parents are gettin’ up there in age and you can’t risk exposing them to nasty old ‘Rona. Boy, are we in some weird times, folx.
But you knew exactly what was going to happen. And oh, did it happen.
You get home, and it feels nice for approximately two whole minutes, until your Mom exclaims, “So, how are you doing?”
The waterworks ensue. She hands you a glass of wine to calm you down, but it just feeds the fire. The usual, “I’m fine, how are you?” response is no longer an option, you are full-on sobbing about being laid off, not having a social life, and apparently your virginity growing back (because not only has it been so goddamn long since you’ve been touched by someone, but it’s just so fitting for everything in your life to be going wrong during this shit show of a year).
She tries to ease your pain with some band-aid fix words of encouragement: “You’re not alone” and “A vaccine is coming soon!” but it doesn’t matter, you’ve started and you can’t stop.
You yell back at her, “Well, how are you doing, Mom?”
A moment of silence. A look of discomfort and fear flashes across good old Susan’s face. Then her floodgates release. She’s crying, you’re crying, the dog starts empathetically whimpering. It sounds like Mariah Carey and Ariana Grande’s most recent joint whistle toning, except just…not as good. You both try to resist it, but eventually, give in. Alan, your Dad walks in. He says, “What the hell,” and joins in too. This is Christmas, y’all. All prompted by a simple inquiring greeting. How. Are. You. Doing.
