Dear Hardly readers,
The traditional use of mistletoe is not the way I saw it.
The textbook version went like this: two unwitting, would-be lovers, happen to meet under those dangling, white berries, and cause a kiss. Perhaps it's the spark of a long and beautiful marriage - or maybe it's just a wet and extinguishable peck. The point is it's just an accident waiting to happen at every well decked Christmas party.
However, years ago, what mistletoe actually meant to me, the shy kid with a sky jump hair cut, was much different. The way I used to see it, mistletoe could give me a Bond-villain type power to kiss any girl I wanted. Just pick the target, set the booby trap, and go. It was sort of evil - and it filled me with a devious kind of warmth.
To my junior high, hormone-riddled soul, mistletoe was everything I ever wanted: absolute access to the hearts and bodies of the one I loved (from afar). If only I could only catch my crush standing beneath it, I had indivisible, insoluble political and moral authority to take a big kiss, sealing our fates, together forever.
It is complete tyranny. But isn't that what every lover wants, at least secretly? Don't we all just wish the object of our affections was a thing that couldn't resist us?
That's what I think is really crazy about mistletoe. What this item of lore is actually all about, what it really points to deep dark down inside, is something everyone, everywhere, desperately wants: the ability to control love. Mistletoe is a get out of jail free card, the prison being a clammy, dark, unending thing we call dating.
In a way, that sounds terrible. The idea of puppeteering a beautiful social bond, which most of us spend our whole lives trying to seal, has the air of sacrilege.
But, when you really think of it, the role we give this seductive plant is simply human. As a rule, we mitigate the risks of those first baby steps into love at all costs. My whole middle school life, for instance, I ravenously corralled classmates into playing spin the bottle or truth or dare - using any device at my disposal to keep my ego out of it and avoid rejection.
Love is terrifying. Mistletoe is simply the surreptitious hijacking of the universe to do the bidding most of us are too scared to attempt on our own. Mistletoe takes all the embarrassment out of it. What is left is a pure, incredibly attractive free reign to seduce.
Yet, despite its awesome properties, mistletoe has the rare honour of being a Christmas tradition known by all, and seldom, if ever, practiced. I certainly never used it and a survey of my friends showed that none of them had either. Have you? I am guessing not.
That's a real shame when you think of it. I wish I had used mistletoe's potion to summersault my soul freezing awkwardness. I wish, that instead of it just being some dreamy myth, at some point I actually did set the trap and see what happened.
Maybe no one ever told me, so I'll say it now. For me, for everyone, for all my friends, for all the readers: this Christmas, we should start doing it. We should steal those kisses, every chance we get.
Before rushing out, though, let's revisit the etiquette of mistletoe fishing. I mean, theoretically it's a deadly weapon and used the wrong way, you could get stuck for life with the wrong person.
First of all, and most importantly, mistletoe kisses have to be three-minute long, wild, dipping to the floor, upside-down-Spiderman-intense kisses. This is not a traditional rule, and in fact I just made it up, but really, are you going to go through all this trouble, and throw it all away with a "thanks for lunch, mom" kiss?
Secondly, choose wisely. You can't go around mistletoe-ing every Jack and Jill at the party. This is not a spray and pray scenario. Mistletoe, despite its seedy underpinnings, is a one shot deal. It should be with someone who you think you have a chance with (and someone you want a chance with, too). Also - don't be crazy. Your teacher is probably not a good option, even if you really think it might work. Really, it won't.
Lastly, and this should go without saying, you've got to realize that it's not actually magic. If she or he does reject the bait, then, well, you've got to accept that. You still get the free pass of trying to kiss a person you like, and you didn't have to put anything on the line; you can blame it on karma. It's win-lose, but at least there's a win. Usually with these things there isn't.
There - that's it. Let's all go out there and light our true, one-day lover's heart on fire with this old magic. There's nothing to be nervous about, you can do the thing you always wanted, without license. That's the whole beautiful, and terrible, spell of mistletoe in the first place.
The traditional use of mistletoe is not the way I saw it.
The textbook version went like this: two unwitting, would-be lovers, happen to meet under those dangling, white berries, and cause a kiss. Perhaps it's the spark of a long and beautiful marriage - or maybe it's just a wet and extinguishable peck. The point is it's just an accident waiting to happen at every well decked Christmas party.
However, years ago, what mistletoe actually meant to me, the shy kid with a sky jump hair cut, was much different. The way I used to see it, mistletoe could give me a Bond-villain type power to kiss any girl I wanted. Just pick the target, set the booby trap, and go. It was sort of evil - and it filled me with a devious kind of warmth.
To my junior high, hormone-riddled soul, mistletoe was everything I ever wanted: absolute access to the hearts and bodies of the one I loved (from afar). If only I could only catch my crush standing beneath it, I had indivisible, insoluble political and moral authority to take a big kiss, sealing our fates, together forever.
It is complete tyranny. But isn't that what every lover wants, at least secretly? Don't we all just wish the object of our affections was a thing that couldn't resist us?
That's what I think is really crazy about mistletoe. What this item of lore is actually all about, what it really points to deep dark down inside, is something everyone, everywhere, desperately wants: the ability to control love. Mistletoe is a get out of jail free card, the prison being a clammy, dark, unending thing we call dating.
In a way, that sounds terrible. The idea of puppeteering a beautiful social bond, which most of us spend our whole lives trying to seal, has the air of sacrilege.
But, when you really think of it, the role we give this seductive plant is simply human. As a rule, we mitigate the risks of those first baby steps into love at all costs. My whole middle school life, for instance, I ravenously corralled classmates into playing spin the bottle or truth or dare - using any device at my disposal to keep my ego out of it and avoid rejection.
Love is terrifying. Mistletoe is simply the surreptitious hijacking of the universe to do the bidding most of us are too scared to attempt on our own. Mistletoe takes all the embarrassment out of it. What is left is a pure, incredibly attractive free reign to seduce.
Yet, despite its awesome properties, mistletoe has the rare honour of being a Christmas tradition known by all, and seldom, if ever, practiced. I certainly never used it and a survey of my friends showed that none of them had either. Have you? I am guessing not.
That's a real shame when you think of it. I wish I had used mistletoe's potion to summersault my soul freezing awkwardness. I wish, that instead of it just being some dreamy myth, at some point I actually did set the trap and see what happened.
Maybe no one ever told me, so I'll say it now. For me, for everyone, for all my friends, for all the readers: this Christmas, we should start doing it. We should steal those kisses, every chance we get.
Before rushing out, though, let's revisit the etiquette of mistletoe fishing. I mean, theoretically it's a deadly weapon and used the wrong way, you could get stuck for life with the wrong person.
First of all, and most importantly, mistletoe kisses have to be three-minute long, wild, dipping to the floor, upside-down-Spiderman-intense kisses. This is not a traditional rule, and in fact I just made it up, but really, are you going to go through all this trouble, and throw it all away with a "thanks for lunch, mom" kiss?
Secondly, choose wisely. You can't go around mistletoe-ing every Jack and Jill at the party. This is not a spray and pray scenario. Mistletoe, despite its seedy underpinnings, is a one shot deal. It should be with someone who you think you have a chance with (and someone you want a chance with, too). Also - don't be crazy. Your teacher is probably not a good option, even if you really think it might work. Really, it won't.
Lastly, and this should go without saying, you've got to realize that it's not actually magic. If she or he does reject the bait, then, well, you've got to accept that. You still get the free pass of trying to kiss a person you like, and you didn't have to put anything on the line; you can blame it on karma. It's win-lose, but at least there's a win. Usually with these things there isn't.
There - that's it. Let's all go out there and light our true, one-day lover's heart on fire with this old magic. There's nothing to be nervous about, you can do the thing you always wanted, without license. That's the whole beautiful, and terrible, spell of mistletoe in the first place.
