Pineapples

I've been on family overdose.  Not my family.  My boyfriend's. 

I'm happy to say that he is in town for a rare week break.  It goes without saying that when he comes home, he attempts to maximize time spent with everyone.  As a result, a setting for dinner is just automatically assumed for me every night.  I love these individuals.  They are stellar people.  I'm just needing a breather.

There are subtle signs that I'm needing a break.  I begin to develop a taste for chard as opposed to pinot noir.  I've begun to pick up mannerisms of the matriarch and sayings of the patriarch.  I know the organization of the kitchen so when it is my turn to cook I don't struggle wondering where the collander is.  These are all tell tale signs that I need to retreat.

In the days of plantations in the South a sign of hospitality was the pineapple.  I'm not certain why I know this or how in the hell it still sticks in my head, but it does.  When guests would arrive, a pineapple would be placed on the table or their bed.  However, when a guest had out-worn their welcome, another pineapple would silently appear back on the bed.  Perhaps this is why you see pineapples carved into bedposts now at Ethan Allen and pineapple motifs on kitchen towels.  The only reason why I mention this is because the family has a planter in the shape of a pineapple on their front porch (now with blue pansies in it).  I doubt they really know the symbolism, but it made me giggle when I passed it.

Last year I was snowed in at their house for literally 10 days.  I will not spend the night again.  That was a time of desperation and unbelievable hospitality.  However, although it met my boyfriend's needs of having everyone in the same place at the same time, it will never happen again.  He just doesn't get it (he attempts to coax me every night into staying.)  I am almost 30 with my own home.  Why he doesn't spend more nights with me when he's in town is beyond me...especially on the weekends. 

Its not like we have some strange moral code.  Hell, where do you think I sleep when I'm visiting him?  There is no denial going on here. 

I can go on and on about what psychologcial analysis I have about this, but I'm certain it goes without saying.

At any rate, I have about oh, 72 hours (but who's counting) o'family time left.  When he leaves, I'll be depressed...as I sit alone in my own home on my own couch with my feet up on my own table...well, you get the picture.