It was the night I was visited by the ghost of Christmas Sex. It is the kind of tale that is far more interesting to me than a Fifty Shades novel because this really happened.
One of the many benefits of being single and Jewish on Christmas Eve is you don’t have any more pressure to do anything special on that particular night than any other night.
If you haven’t volunteered to cover someone else’s shift at work it is not much different than any other Saturday night, especially when fewer establishments shut down for the holidays.
But for a variety of reasons many members of the tribe have come to throw parties that evening so that we have a place to hang out.
Way back in 1993 I didn’t feel like going to the Matzah Ball party that the once famous gents named Stu and Lew were throwing on Christmas Eve. I didn’t feel like getting dressed up to go to some club that was going to be packed full of people I already knew, especially when there was a stiff cover fee.
So I walked over to the video store down the street from my apartment and rented a movie. Can’t remember what it was but I recall that I gave a pretty nice tip to the pizza delivery guy.
The 20th Century
Way back during the dawn of time we called the 2oth century when we went to see or rented a movie we actually watched it. There weren’t any social media platforms begging for attention. So I didn’t try to come up with witty remarks I could share on Twitter or think about buying stock photos of my fabulous fake vacation to upload onto Facebook.
So when my telephone rang around 10 PM I was free to speak. The movie was done and I had nothing but time.
“What are you doing?”
Hindsight is a wonderful thing which allows me to realize she knew in advance what her intentions were and that she had an agenda that night.
“Not much. Just finished watching a movie. Aren’t you supposed to be with your family tonight?”
“I had dinner with them, but I couldn’t take it any more. Between my mom and my sister I had to get out of there.”
We exchanged some more small talk and then she tells me she is going to be driving by my apartment.
“I am going to drop a gift off at my friend’s house. Do you want to hang out afterwards?”
It doesn’t occur to me that it is unusual to drop a gift off at almost 11 so I tell her to come on by afterwards.
“I know you are Jewish, but you are making a big mistake by not keeping any Mistletoe around. It is kind of useful this time of year.”
Sometimes I am slow to pick up on things so I tell her I think it is great for people to celebrate their holidays but Christmas isn’t my thing. I won’t ever have a tree, stocking or any of that stuff.
“Yeah, but Mistletoe is a plant. Are you sure you don’t have any of that around here? Maybe the neighbor has some. You should go ask.”
Still slow on the draw I tell her I don’t want to bother them. I don’t have to close my eyes to remember how I could tell she was getting irritated with me. So being the smart man I am I told her she was yelling at the wrong person.
I don’t remember exactly how she responded, but it didn’t include a smile, giggle or hair flip.
How I Tried To Blow It One Last Time
“I am not going to feed your ego by telling you that you are pretty so that you can thank me, kiss me on the cheek and go home.”
“Jack you are an idiot and a jerk. I have made a fool of myself all night long by throwing myself at you. This is your last chance.”
“I want to do more than just kiss you.”
“$^%#^#^ Jack, trust me on this. A woman doesn’t show up at your house after ten on Christmas Eve so that she can give you a peck on the lips and go home. Are you really that dense.”
Right about then was when I decided to take her seriously and made my best effort to prove her time wasn’t to be wasted.
We didn’t sleep much but when I think of pleasant Christmas Eve and Christmas morning surprises that moment in time holds a special place in my heart. It is the sort of Christmas Spirit I can get behind.