Thursday, February 09, 2006
The parents came in last week for a visit. Not just any visit, an epic visit. And not just any epic visit, an epic opera visit.
My mother, since I took her to see Flemming’s Traviata in 2003, has become a serious opera buff of the worst type: obsessive compulsive and with the resources to endulge them. And those that have seen something at the Met know that there’s pretty much the Met and everything else. My parents came in for a week long visit and opera gorge. Generally speaking, it's tolerable to be with either of my parents separately, but never at the same time.
They went to the Met five nights in a row -- My God! I joined them for only three, because of financial (they buy Grand Tier seats, not cheap) and work limitations --not to mention needing some time alone. Of course, they saved money during this excursion by staying with me.
But there was an opera of sorts going on in my apartment alone. Mom and dad bickering about trivial things, me trying to keep my smoking and drinking habits from them, them finding condoms in my apartment and asking me about them (what the hell do you think they’re for – I’m 30 and single for god’s sake. . . be more worried if I didn’t have them) and the list goes on and on. All you needed to do was set it to music, and there it was. . . high drama (okay, not “high” but certainly drama).
Needless to say last Sunday I was very glad to get my apartment back to myself. After a week of sleeping on the floor of my living room and dealing with their crap lying around the apartment, I’ve never been more convinced that my parents – though I love them dearly – cannot stay THAT long ever again.
My mother, since I took her to see Flemming’s Traviata in 2003, has become a serious opera buff of the worst type: obsessive compulsive and with the resources to endulge them. And those that have seen something at the Met know that there’s pretty much the Met and everything else. My parents came in for a week long visit and opera gorge. Generally speaking, it's tolerable to be with either of my parents separately, but never at the same time.
They went to the Met five nights in a row -- My God! I joined them for only three, because of financial (they buy Grand Tier seats, not cheap) and work limitations --not to mention needing some time alone. Of course, they saved money during this excursion by staying with me.
But there was an opera of sorts going on in my apartment alone. Mom and dad bickering about trivial things, me trying to keep my smoking and drinking habits from them, them finding condoms in my apartment and asking me about them (what the hell do you think they’re for – I’m 30 and single for god’s sake. . . be more worried if I didn’t have them) and the list goes on and on. All you needed to do was set it to music, and there it was. . . high drama (okay, not “high” but certainly drama).
Needless to say last Sunday I was very glad to get my apartment back to myself. After a week of sleeping on the floor of my living room and dealing with their crap lying around the apartment, I’ve never been more convinced that my parents – though I love them dearly – cannot stay THAT long ever again.
# posted by otas : 2:03 PM
