The cat and the hamburgers

I got home late Tuesday night, just as the woman renting the little house in front on my apartment was rescuing her cat – who had escaped out the back door but was now sitting petrified in the driveway having no idea what to do with the Great Big Outdoors. We exchanged a couple of polite pleasantries about cats and suddenly she said, “Do you want a hamburger? I made too many so come in and have one.” Let me clarify that we had never exchanged so much as a complete sentence before, although we had waved once or twice while passing in the driveway. So this invitation was a little out of the blue, and it took me somewhat aback. On the other hand I didn’t want to appear impolite or churlish. So I mentioned that my 18-year old son was sitting up in the apartment alone and she insisted “Well he can come have one too.” I texted Son 1 “Do you want a hamburger?” and in a couple minutes he toddled down to see what it was about. So we came in and spent a few minutes chatting with her while she [Kirsten] pressed hamburgers on us and poured herself some more wine (from a bottle which had clearly been a lot fuller earlier that evening). She offered me some wine too (I accepted), and offered it to Son 1 two or three times before she finally accepted his polite refusals and poured him iced tea instead.


Oh, a friend of hers [Holly] was there too … then Holly drove off for a few minutes … and came back with a little boy (I think maybe her son) and another bottle of wine. Son 1 and I talked with them for a little longer and then made polite excuses about having to get up early in the morning and retreated to our own apartment. It was kind of an odd event. They were both certainly pleasant enough, cheerful and outgoing (and rather tipsy). On the other hand it was also really obvious that we had the advantage of them in education and class.


I told Son 1, “To all intents and purposes, you have now met about half of Mom’s [Wife’s] relatives.” That is to say, he has met almost none of Wife’s relatives in real life: some of them live too far away, and others of them have cut her off (or she them) because of some pointless fight twenty years ago. Wife’s family are all really good at holding grudges; that’s where she learned it. But my point was that several of Wife’s nieces, back when I met them, were a lot like Kirsten and Holly: friendly, outgoing, well-meaning, but none-too-smart, none-too-educated, and very proletarian. Using Paul Fussell’s typology, I would guess them at low-to-middle prole. Not that that’s a bad thing …! But it limits the kinds of things we can find to talk about.


On the other hand, the hamburgers were good and the wine wasn’t bad. The cat ran and hid.