The Times They are a-Changin'

My sister dated for a long time. When I was little I would breathlessly run to the window and peer in excitement at the battered sedan outside as she stiffly walked across the grass with this evening's offering. Once or twice I would lean my head as far as possible through the upstairs banister to catch a glimpse of black hat and a snatch of an unfamiliar male voice before it disappeared into the dining room.

There was also the standard rituals to observe. Ma applying her Face, but leaving her utilitarian skirt on, since she would be sitting behind a table. The bottles of untouched Pellegrino placed on a tray, along with a dish of foil-wrapped truffles, which merely gathered dust over the years. Ta giving his hat a vigorous brush or two before the new victim arrived. Sis waiting at the top of the steps, silently counting to thirty before slowly making her descent. 

Thirsty? Tough.

As the years passed, I no longer found it scintillating. Yeah, sure, whatever, she's on another date, what else is knew. So it was a complete shock when Luke burst into my room one morning with a goofy grin and told me she was engaged. Apparently, no one had bothered to waken me for the midnight l'chaim. 

When my turn came around, I put my foot down. Okay, maybe I just tentatively placed it on the floor. He's obviously not going to touch the water or chocolates, I argued. That went. Ma, an early-bird, decided she can't stand to redo her Face in the evenings, and doesn't bother to come downstairs on first dates anymore, happy to take up the spot by the window. Ta just stays casual; the tie is nonchalantly draped on a chair, the hat safe in its box in the closet. 

As for my waiting upstairs? Nah. I'm going out with the guy; if there is something of interest after the first few dates then the folks can pick him apart. Often I have—gasp!—opened the door myself if Ta couldn't leave the office. C'mon, I'm not 19 anymore, neither are you. Why can't this dating thing be more natural?  

Ta grumbles from time to time. He likes meeting new people, even if they are one-date-wonders, and he tries to insist that I remain unseen for at least two solid minutes. I just want to get this outing going, I insist, my kishkes can't stand this waiting. Twitching silently in the den for two solid minutes feels like two hours.

I like doing things this way, more at ease, less complicated. I probably have horrified more than one guy, but why should I let a ship that passes in the night be grilled and interrogated to no good purpose? 

Never mind teasing him with well-aged chocolate.