I am a big, fun proponent of repress, deny, and in teh name of God, don't tell me, but my sister and her soon to be ex-husband have no problem sharing things that belong strictly in places that I do not frequent--namely, places I am not in hearing distance of. Antarctica, for example. The Pegasus galaxy. Wherever the X-Files grey men came from. Neverland. It's a disconcerting situation all around when one realizes that one is a prude, despite what has to be coming on five hundred thousand words of porn and porn-related plot.
And I'm not a prude. Except when I am, apparently.
My youngest sister had diary entries about her sex life from age fourteen on, which during a period of time I am under legal obligation not to discuss, I ran across and read, with a kind of slow, shocked horror, and that was like, more entries than I think there were days in that particular year. The terminology is extremely beyond anything I could find even in bad porn, and explicit in that way that makes me want amnesia in the worst way. So I've known for a while that of the three daughters of my parents, I was not in the running for Miss Sexual Adventures. Frankly, even with the seven year gap between me and my youngest sister, I can't even claim I was the first to lose my virginity. I can't be *sure*. It's--something.
But anyway, car convo on the way over to our ultra!suburban uncle and his ultra!suburban family in their very nice suburban neighborhood--the emphasis here is deliberate--to pick up a piano. For my mother. Just before Christmas.
It started with the usual--Middle Sister and Husband are divorcing, for reasons no one understands and they've never really bothered to explain. They have the date planned for June, they're still living together, and sadly, I have empirical proof they're still having sex regularly, which we'll get to in a minute. And having sex regularly with other people. This has expanded to people of apparently any sex available, and I had her rewind, because I've wondered if my sister and her husband have been inviting third parties over for more than coffee and crumpets, (and that entire stash of very bizarre porn magazines Child and Niece found, with the person all in a body cast, if anyone remembers my entry of what the hell and also, what the *hell*) but--
We're getting a piano. A piano. And Middle Sister is going on and on about a girl and a guy from work and hooking up and there's this entire thing with her husband's boss that I want to know even less about and--a piano! At my uncle's! Youngest Sister, who is dating Semi-Goth Candidate for Serial Killer of the Future, is asking questions and I'm in the front seat, trying not to believe that at this rate, I will not be scarred for life. And that I can face my uncle and aunt with some semblance of hi, I'm not freaking out. Give me the damn piano so I can breakdown in private already.
Then there's today, where my eight year old son narrated finding Middle Sister and Husband engaged in recreation with an added bonus soundtrack that I am not not getting over in teh near future. I mean, ever. Middle Sister and Husband and Mother laughed. No one denied a damn thing.
Oh God, I am a prude. I am a slash-writing prude. I have written things that I'm pretty sure aren't possible without medical intervention, and I? I am a prude. Or maybe it's just that the concept of blood relations popping in to narrate their incredibly adventurous sex lives is just more than I can handle in this life. Some of it could be the fact that I have no idea where on earth any of these people fit in all this adventuring between work, clubbing, parenting, and spending lethal amounts of time playing Fantasy Football and working on their vehicles. That is some serious time management.
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