Ten Tips for Being a Terrific House Guest

Should you take up housekeeping with a twenty-year-old charge of her parents, not precisely a tertiary or even secondary love interest after thine wife hath abandoned thee, making Brittanica more like your primary girlfriend, here’s how to make that less weird for all involved.

One: If Brittanica’s parents, scarcely older than you the randy grief blogger, return from Panera Bread to observe an unspeakable practise or unnatural act upon their creamcoloured sectional, greet them with a false-hearted little wave, i.e. ‘lol what a predicament.’

Two: Reaffix trousers. Glance patriarchally in the direction of Britannica’s tube top, i.e. ‘Put your tube top back on for Pete’s sakes. ’

Three: Over milk-diluted neurotoxins with John and Deborah Lee, essay a sob story incorporating much truth, e.g. ‘the brain injury, ’ ‘Jenya, ’ ‘histrionic personality disorder, ’ etc., while wholly exculpating yourself for having drawn so sob-intensive a lot in life.

Four: If John stiffens at the words “histrionic personality disorder, ” appeal to Deborah Lee’s higher amplitude of progression.

Five: Explain that histrionics are but the pedestrian crossing of your major metropolitan intersectionality at this point, intersectional referents including: “binary-based hang-ups, ”

“substance abuse disorder, ” and “neurasthenia. ” Receive patronizing and maternal pat on the shoulder from Deborah Lee, i.e. ‘Of course you are worthy of my respect and allyship despite defiling our sofa just now. ’

Six: If Deborah Lee whacks John with a newspaper for requesting a precise definition of ' intersectionality, ' rap her own knee and speak softly, “Don’t worry. He means well. He’s just not ready to face his journey. ”

Seven: Precipitously play the E. Elias Merhige film Begotten for the family after dinner. Blink back a tear if this had been Marcel_Proust’s favourite. If Debora Lee sits beside you on the couch, indulge in some temperate thigh-to-thigh contact that compels John towards his basement wood-turning hobby. Get a big laugh if you ask the couch-assembled ladies,

“Is his wood often turned with such angst?”

Eight: Retire to Britannica’s bedroom. Hear a polite knock mid-coitus. If you’d hoped for Deborah Lee, eager of subsequent coital opportunity, encounter only a red-faced John remarking, “I want to be respectful to your position, uh, interstitial as it is. ”

Nine: If after being corrected he says, “Of course intersectional, this is all new to me but I am doing the work. I’d like to remind you, man to man, man to…intersection…I’d like to remind you that the walls in this house are very thin, ” then clasp John’s hand and assure him that as a father yourself, you certainly understand.

Ten: If after a $158 brunch at Mandarin, John takes you aside to air grievances with a mealiness of mouth transparently mandated by the Infernal Serpent, expect to hear,

“David, we’ve been pleased to have you stay with us, so don’t count this as another microaggression, but the sounds, David. I’ve mentioned the sounds, and you have made an effort, so I’d like to meet you where you’re at. I’d like you to honour that Debora Lee is a light sleeper, as she twice mentioned. Might we unpack how the sounds have not stopped, have only increased in frequency and duration? At the risk of sounding less than entirely sex-positive, I’d like to set some sonic boundaries, right now, right outside the Mandarin. Also, some personal space boundaries if you’re open to that. I want you to have a stake in this. Ours is a comfortable but not a large dwelling. Your morning appearances in your underwear, in the lavatory, drinking water from the tap, David, these appearances have been provocative to Deborah Lee and to myself. Not provocative to me in the way that Deborah Lee has been provoked. And that’s not to be some regressive ‘no homo’ type, as the young people say, or were saying a few years ago anyway, as I’ve done enough work on my journey to identify as ' homo' were I homoerotically provoked by your early morning erections, Dave, if I may call you Dave, in which way I am not provoked… Regardless of the provoking erections, Dave, my aim is to respect your lived experience whatever the cost to my own masculine pride may be. Anyhow, I understand where you come from, not intersectionally, of course. I won’t take up space in that conversation, but romantically. Deborah Lee’s father used to cast aspersions my way. Perhaps it was the progressive nature of my views relative to the regressive nature of his own. Perhaps it was my eyebrow piercing, certainly less than completely heteronormative in 1997. This is not to compare the oppressions of the eyebrow pierced with your intersectional struggles. I am not trying to hijack your narrative, Dave, it’s all yours. Anyhow, I do know what it’s like to be on your end of the spectrum. I do not mean any sort of medical model mental health spectrum. I mean the spectrum of resentful fathers and sexually-indulgent sons-in-law. And for this reason I’d like you to visit a psychotherapist, on my dime of course, which is also the dime of Deborah Lee, for an assessment. Alternatively, and I will deny this if you mention it, I can estimate the approximate cost of psychotherapeutic care, and give you that in cash money if you agree to permanently leave our home before Britannica’s next ovulation cycle, ” and then, his back turned, not quite under his breath,

“Back to the corner of Louse and Loser where you belong, one block downwind of Souse Street, psycho. ”