The Captive

Lesl,

Have I told you that my cousin moved to Phoenix?  Well, my cousin moved to Phoenix.  And I LOVE it.  He'd come here job-searching several times in the past year, and we always had a blast.  I felt like I was 9 years old and if we were good, our moms might let us eat dinner in front of the TV and then sleep outside on the trampoline.

And the fun has not worn off since he permanently settled here.  At least, it hasn't worn off for me.  Cousin and I hang out on his days off from work, and he comes over for dinner every Sunday.  And I know he's going to keep coming because eating at my house is better than eating at home.  Alone.  Bachelor-style.  And yet, every Sunday night I get the feeling he's ready to leave before I'm ready for him to go.  He sits up straight, stretches, and says something about "getting up early" the next morning.

As if.

Then just when he's about to head to the door, I start small-talking him.  I beg for family gossip.  I fill him in on the expected weather patterns for this time of year.  I ask for his best work stories (from the past two days, since last time I saw him.)  I make him promise to come back again.

Last week was bad.  Baker got in on the action, and as he was trying to leave, I made Baker show Cousin pictures of our cats.  Then videos of our cats.  Then we started telling Cousin how our friend Leslie made us go on an almost-blind date and that's how we fell in love, blah blah blah.  Cousin was dying to go, I could tell.  But he is polite and wants un-bachelor dinner next week too, and so he stayed and listened.

I feel bad about all this and I want to stop killing Cousin with chit-chat.  I'm trying to tell myself that it's because I like him, he's family, and I'm excited we finally live in the same place.  But really?  I think I just love a captive audience.

Currently holding hostages in my living room, Crystal