My father’s older sister – Aunt Colleen is like Auntie Mame and their younger sister,
Margene – is like Vera Charles – but with flaming red hair. Imagine these larger than life characters as aunts visiting me when I was a teenager and sleeping in my tiny antique bed at the back of the house I grew up in.
Aunt Colleen, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Aunt Margene, “Have two!”
They turn to each other.
“Two? No, three, Cath must have three. One she likes, one she doesn’t like and one that takes her shopping.”
“What is that you have Cath?”
Aunt Colleen peaks at me while putting on her nightgown.
Aunt Margene sits forward.
“Is is good?”
My innocent voice causes them to turn.
“Full of boys and things your parents don’t want to know!’
Aunt Colleen leans across the bed.
“Well, I guess it’s kinda. . .”
I half whisper and shrug my shoulders, thinking about the hockey players I had secret crushes on.
They clap their hands and smile.
Aunt Colleen pulls her night gown.
“Well that certainly is better than my diary growing up – I never knew what to write in the darn thing. Every day I would open my diary, write the date, and begin Dear Diary, and from there, I would ponder, sit a bit, yell at Margene, get ready for bed, and come back to the diary, only to write, Love Colleen.”
Laughter fills the room.
“That was my diary for a year Cath dear. Monday: Dear Diary, Love Colleen… Tuesday: Dear Diary, Love Colleen … Wednesday: Dear Diary, Love Colleen…Thursday: Dear Diary, Love Colleen and so on…”
Aunt Colleen giggles and rolls her eyes. I start to laugh.
“It’s true, boring as hell it was to steal the thing from my OLDER sister, and read it. She could have at least made something up!”
“Oh and be like YOU?” Aunt Colleen retorts.
“Well, I AM the prettier one.”
Aunt Margene glances at me and winks.
They both turn to me, with hands on their hips and shout “Well who do YOU think is prettier?!”
I may have been young, but I wasn’t born stupid, and I already get the redheaded thing, so I answer, “You both are!”.
Aunt Colleen shoots a look at Margene, “You KNOW she means me, because I am her favorite Aunt.”
“In your dreams, which we know are troubled,” Margene answers back.
This leads to the discussion of sex and men, and how men want it at any price. I am told that I need to set the price high, “You control the relationship Cath my dear” they would say while staring at me with those redhead eyes.
“If a man tries to teach you otherwise, then you just drop him like a bad habit, because he’s not the one.”
“I do?” I ask – never quite understanding the redhead power.
I haven’t even kissed a boy, and we are discussing power struggles. It seems to me the boys had all the power because I didn’t want to be sweet 16 and never been kissed. Never being kissed by 16 seemed like the curse of Zoro (or something more tragic).
Aunt Colleen snaps me back from this moment of self doubt.
“Do you remember ‘possible – not possible’?”
I shake my head.
“You know – when putting on perfume . . . ”
Aunt Colleen pulls out a bottle of perfume, blots her finger, and dots her lip then whispers,
“Remember Possible, Possible IMpossible!”
She blots her neck and shoulders, whispering, “Possible.”
She refills her finger at the bottle and touches her breasts and whispers, “Possible.”
She blots again, then touches her wrist, “Possible.”
Finally she quickly rubs her pussy with the perfume and says loudly, “IMpossible !”
She repeats it to make sure I understand.
Aunt Margene is giggling.
“Our mother told us to always keep both feet on the floor – I had 5 children that way!”
Thus the rule as possible-impossible was born, along with keep both feet always planted on the floor.
This was different sex education talk than what occurred with my mother – the RN. My mother gave me charts and diagrams with technical terms I still can’t pronounce. I knew exactly where babies came from, but my mother never talked to me about Possible, Possible, Impossible. I guess Aunts are suppose to fill us in on those details.
And I also have one child from keeping both feet planted firmly on the ground.
Funny how that works.
Until next time-
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