The sudden fatigue and loss of cerebral functioning suffered when attending a social function involving ones partner’s family.
Alpha’s aunt celebrated her 60th birthday at a local restaurant last night and we all went even though Alpha still has a bad case of bronchitis. It began fiveish and we stayed until Alpha started hacking out her lungs at 8.00 sharp from the smoke and drafty air in the large room.
Guests sat facing each other along both sides of long tables. Food was good, we had chicken breast schnitzels and french fries.
My tinnitus was pretty bad, and the acoustics weren’t good to begin with so it was hard to hear the nice old woman opposite me who was trying to make conversation; the background noise of other people’s conversation and the elderly entertainer on stage with his keyboard, synthesizer and rhythm machine singing hits from the past five decades didn’t help either.
I quickly felt the creeping paralysis of in-legal narcolepsy setting in but this time tried several things to fight it, all of which helped. They all involved various strategies to concentrate on what was happening rather than withdrawing from events, which would have been my natural feral, semi-autistic reaction.
First of all I tried the old standby of giving everyone nicknames. The small man with the huge muttonchop sideburns at the end of the table was Bilbo Baggins. The thick black wig with the little elderly man underneath was The Toupee. Leather Girl wore leather pants one size too tight.
I also took part in several conversations despite my hearing problems. Most rewarding was the interaction with a man we will call The Boy, about 10 years my senior, grey hair, with a face younger than his years and a smartass attitude to match. Since I have myself recently gotten in touch with my own Inner Smartass, we got along well and made each other laugh.
After that, I worked on getting Beta to be silly, and succeeded, which is an achievement. She is normally the serious achiever type, but we ended up having toothpick swordfights, beating each other up, etc. At one point, we even convinced Alpha that Mr. Chunky-Combover across the table had stolen her dessert when she went to the restroom.
You know the clownish type of man, the middle-aged guy, in his forties or fifties who dances with little girls at big family parties? Turns out he’s having a lot of fun. I danced with Gamma, anyway, and enjoyed myself.
And so on. As irritating as families and their gatherings are, we were still glad we went. I was glad to see who’s looking old and frail and who hasn’t changed a bit, whose kids are growing up and who’s still shrimpy. Alpha’s aunt and uncle made sentimental speeches and made each other cry. My sister-in-law’s husband who hates us was growing a goatee and looks pathetic with it, which killed my plans to grow one myself over Christmas, just as well.
The gent on stage played Felice Navidad, Gamma recognized it and ran around announcing the fact to everyone, even after he started playing something else. Alpha started hacking her bronchial passages onto the table, and we went home.