Tuesday - Pete
Oct. 16th, 2007 02:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermoreToday on my drive into work, I was thinking about my brother-in-law, Pete, who lives in Idaho. It's been a while since we've seen Pete, since he can't leave the state of Idaho without permission from his probation officer. Jeff's mom is the only member of the family who finds this upsetting.
"How come Pete's never hit on me?" I asked my husband not too long ago. "I mean, he hit on your first wife, and he hit on Russ' wife, but never on me. Does this mean I'm ugly?"
Jeff scowled. He was not scowling at the idea of Pete hitting on his first wife or his sister-in-law; it's just that when Pete's name comes up, Jeff scowls.
"You've never been in a room alone with him," he pointed out.
"Well, no. I think he's creepy. I've worked very hard to not be alone with him. When he's around, I stick close to you."
"That's why he's never hit on you. You're not ugly. If he had the chance, he'd hit on you. That's how he is."
"Oh, good, because my feelings were kind of hurt. I mean, he's obnoxious, but it's kind of insulting that the dog who tries to hump every woman he sees has never stayed away from my leg. It makes me feel ugly."
"Just give him a chance to, and he'll definitely hit on you. Remember how he acted the first time you met him?"
I do. It was at Jeff's grandmother's 20th birthday party, in 1992. She was born on February 29, 1912, and her "real" birthday only came up every four years, and the family tradition was to make a big deal of it when it did. Pete was manning the video camera to document the occasion for the family archives. He was also very drunk that night (which can be used said about Pete on most occasions). He didn't proposition me, but he did follow me around the whole time with the video camera trying to see how far he could stick it down the front of my blouse. As a result, the family video of Jeff's grandmother's birthday celebration in 1992 shows very little of the old woman, and a whole lot of my cleavage. That first meeting is also why in all the years since I've gone out of my way to never be alone in a room with Pete.
"Okay, say I did accidentally find myself in a room alone with him and he did hit on me. If I asked you to, would you beat him up for me?"
"If I needed to. Why are we talking about Pete? Can we please change the subject?"
I beamed at him. No man has ever beaten up another man to defend my honor, but I kind of like the idea (at least in theory). "That's so sweet. Thank you, honey."
Jeff growled. He wasn't being playful, the way I was. Talking about Pete makes Jeff resort to bear-like behavior. I think this is cute, because I enjoy the metaphoric qualities of it: bears are cuddly-looking predators, and the animal names we usually use to describe Pete – pig, dog, and black sheep – all would be prey for Jeff's inner ursidae. Bear that he is, the idea of his porcine-minding brother rooting around this neck of the woods puts him in a grumpy frame of mind. Not that he needs to worry. For now, Pete the pig is in the doghouse in Idaho, and he can't wander down to Texas anytime soon without having the cops chase after him.
Yet, as annoying as the idea of having to fend him off is, it's still insulting to be the only wife who hasn't been the object of an unwanted proposition. Every other woman married into the family has gotten the chance to reject him and put him in his place. Rejecting Pete is a right of passage for the Erickson wives, and until I get to do it, I just don't feel like I'm part of his family. It makes me sad.
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"How come Pete's never hit on me?" I asked my husband not too long ago. "I mean, he hit on your first wife, and he hit on Russ' wife, but never on me. Does this mean I'm ugly?"
Jeff scowled. He was not scowling at the idea of Pete hitting on his first wife or his sister-in-law; it's just that when Pete's name comes up, Jeff scowls.
"You've never been in a room alone with him," he pointed out.
"Well, no. I think he's creepy. I've worked very hard to not be alone with him. When he's around, I stick close to you."
"That's why he's never hit on you. You're not ugly. If he had the chance, he'd hit on you. That's how he is."
"Oh, good, because my feelings were kind of hurt. I mean, he's obnoxious, but it's kind of insulting that the dog who tries to hump every woman he sees has never stayed away from my leg. It makes me feel ugly."
"Just give him a chance to, and he'll definitely hit on you. Remember how he acted the first time you met him?"
I do. It was at Jeff's grandmother's 20th birthday party, in 1992. She was born on February 29, 1912, and her "real" birthday only came up every four years, and the family tradition was to make a big deal of it when it did. Pete was manning the video camera to document the occasion for the family archives. He was also very drunk that night (which can be used said about Pete on most occasions). He didn't proposition me, but he did follow me around the whole time with the video camera trying to see how far he could stick it down the front of my blouse. As a result, the family video of Jeff's grandmother's birthday celebration in 1992 shows very little of the old woman, and a whole lot of my cleavage. That first meeting is also why in all the years since I've gone out of my way to never be alone in a room with Pete.
"Okay, say I did accidentally find myself in a room alone with him and he did hit on me. If I asked you to, would you beat him up for me?"
"If I needed to. Why are we talking about Pete? Can we please change the subject?"
I beamed at him. No man has ever beaten up another man to defend my honor, but I kind of like the idea (at least in theory). "That's so sweet. Thank you, honey."
Jeff growled. He wasn't being playful, the way I was. Talking about Pete makes Jeff resort to bear-like behavior. I think this is cute, because I enjoy the metaphoric qualities of it: bears are cuddly-looking predators, and the animal names we usually use to describe Pete – pig, dog, and black sheep – all would be prey for Jeff's inner ursidae. Bear that he is, the idea of his porcine-minding brother rooting around this neck of the woods puts him in a grumpy frame of mind. Not that he needs to worry. For now, Pete the pig is in the doghouse in Idaho, and he can't wander down to Texas anytime soon without having the cops chase after him.
Yet, as annoying as the idea of having to fend him off is, it's still insulting to be the only wife who hasn't been the object of an unwanted proposition. Every other woman married into the family has gotten the chance to reject him and put him in his place. Rejecting Pete is a right of passage for the Erickson wives, and until I get to do it, I just don't feel like I'm part of his family. It makes me sad.
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Date: 2007-10-17 02:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-17 05:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-17 07:00 pm (UTC)That reminds me -- Daddy used to refer to Root Beer as "Baptist Beer!" :D