HCOD

A friend and former shipmate had a thing on deployment that he called the “PCOD”.  It’s pronounced “pea cod”, and it means, “Pussy Cut-Off Date”.  He defined it as the last date he could get laid, catch something, realize he’s caught something, get it treated, and be clear of it before getting home to his wife.

Now, I’m not going to debate the relative morality of the concept, and anyone who wants to know where I stand on the subject of infidelity can just browse around in my blog for a while to find that particular answer.  Also, this was clearly in the days before enjoying a piece of strange could net you a disease that guaranteed an ugly death.

No, I’m actually extending the concept to my current situation, namely that I’m facing the eighth Christmas of solitude since my marriage ended.  I realized this morning that it’s well past the Holiday Cut-Off Date today, three weeks until Christmas.  Anything less than six weeks and including each other in family plans on the Big Morning are uncomfortable and weird.  Everyone will just end up trying to be polite while sitting unshaven, unwashed, and unkempt in their slightly-fuggy PJs, and that’s too much pressure to put on the family.  

And if I were to opt out of the Christmas Eve or Christmas Morning festivities (nog or coffee, as appropriate), in favor of someone my family hasn’t met, I’ll get the Third Degree, beginning with the editorial question, “So you’ve known this woman, what?  Three weeks?  And you’re spending your Christmas with her?”

If I were to say that I was indulging myself in the possibility of Christmas Morning Sex (or the fantasy of it, at least), something I have not had in oh, say, ten years, I’d have to deal with the disapprobation of my parents, who have said on a number of occasions that I shouldn’t “get serious” for at least a year.

Don’t get me wrong.  My family wants me to find someone to be with, but not three weeks before Christmas.

The problem is that when you find someone who really trips your trigger, you really want to be with them as much as possible.  You don’t want to miss a single second of the process of getting to know them.  You hope that this is the person you’re going to spend the rest of your life with and you want the rest of your life to start right now.

The truth is that you’re in danger of being more lonely on Christmas day if you’re in a truly new relationship than you are if you just accept that this is the eighth time you’ve been a fifth wheel for the family holiday celebrations.  You can’t be with your new love, and you can’t not be with them, so you slip quietly into spare rooms to make furtive phone calls in the hope of getting to say, “Merry Christmas,” without having to endure any ridicule.

And then there’s the whole problem of what to give your new love as a Christmas gift.  It should have meaning…it’s the first Christmas Gift Ever for the two of you.  Sweet, thoughtful and non-committal; it’s a hard combination to come by.  

Some years ago, I gave a new girlfriend a book entitled “All About Me”, which was simply thought-provoking questions and blanks for my answers.  I spent several evenings on that book, and answered every question truthfully.  After all, I have nothing to hide, and if she was going to be with me in the long term, I wanted her to know that I would always be honest with her.  The message of this gift was not that I was giving myself to her, but that I was willing and able to open myself up to her.

When she broke up with me a month later, she said that my Christmas gift was one of the things that killed it for her.  I was too honest.  Romance lives in a world of illusion, she said, and that simple, heartfelt book had filled in blanks that she wanted left to her imagination.

So for now, I’m resigning myself to the fact that this will be another Singleton Christmas.  

Maybe next year.

“No way November will see our goodbye
When it comes to December, it’s obvious why
No one wants to be alone at Christmas time.
And come January, we’re frozen inside
Making new resolutions a hundred times.
February, won’t you be my Valentine?

And we’ll both be safe ‘til St. Patrick’s Day.”

-- John Mayer