BOX SOCIAL
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"Woman. You ever gonna satisfy me again?"
"Well. Are you ever gonna fill my box again?"
"What da'ya mean by that?"
"If you don't know by now, you're never gonna. I told you before, when my box gets low, I ain't got nothing to give back to you. Getting you off, is the last thing on my mind."
"That again! Old woman, tain't my job to keep your silly imaginary box filled. If what you're needing is fantasy stuff, take it out of your own brain, you got plenty enough for both of us."
"Listen to who's calling who old! You must like hurtin' yourself. Can't you see when our love box is empty, it's your loss too, not jest mine?"
"Well, spit it out. Tell me all about it. You're gonna anyhow, whether I want to hear it or not."
"It's not much different than the wood box by the range, if we want to stay warm, we keep it full. You ain't been keeping my love box full. I ain't been keeping yours filled."
"Are you finding fault with me? I give up! I work hard everyday for you. I do my duties--go to church on Sunday. I don't smoke, I don't drink, but damn it woman, I gotta a right to have good sex on a regular basis. I can't take feeling like this much longer. A man's got his needs."
"You ain't been stock-piling any wood lately, that's the problem--it has to sit awhile before you use it--season."
"Woman. WHAT do you want me to do!"
"Well listen up good. You got your box, I got mine. If we start filling up each others, I can put some in yours, you can put some in mine, getting 'em filled to overflowing, so we don't run out."
"So what's your point?"
"Well, lately we've been only taking from each others' boxes--NOT putting anything back."
"Yeah, like when you said I was no good in the sack after the Earth Day Box Social."
"I shouldn't have said that old man, but I was at the end of my rope. Ya' didn't even bid on my box. How do ya' think that made me feel? It was like telling everybody there, I wasn't a good cook. Then you let me drift off by myself while you sat and et with Widow Granger. Just laughin' and carrying on sumpin' awful, while my box went for a dollar to a hungry little rug rat. How'd you expect I'd feel after that when we'd come home? Ready to jump in the sack and be all lovey-dovey? Ain't gonna happen."
"So old woman, are you saying that I'm not man enough anymore to satisfy you?"
"At times yer' not. I didn't mind you making the old wider happy, but ya didn't have to leave me out. Let my box sit. Had you bought it, ya would have had good food, as well as a good lover. Made me feel glad, like dancing, like jumping in the pond naked--tight with ya' and being all frisky later in the sack with you darling."
"Yeah. Okay. I get it. Like how I feel when you get all mushy when I bring you home fabric for a new dress, or throw fresh venison at your feet."
"Sure! Everything that goes into any kind of box makes us stronger--feels more like life is good--that all will be fine, that no matter what, we got plenty of nothin' to share with each other."
"Yeah. I do feel more like doing things for ya' when you sew me up a new shirt or bake my favorite apple pie or tell me I'm the best looking feller you ever did see around."
"Yer' gettin' the idea. That's how I feel when you pick me some flowers growin' long side of the road on your the way home--when you tell me I did real good selling for us down at the farmer's market. But when you don't give a tinkers damn--when my box gets empty--I don't care much about loving on you. It just isn't in me."
"Yeah. You're right woman. Come to think of it, lately, my box been empty too, just crumbs left at the bottom feelin' like poison dust, sapping my energy, and taking my will. Guess I been trying to take from your box cause I ain't had much in my own."
"Yeah. I hear you. How can I not? So how about, if we work on filling up each others boxes--tomorrow for sure, okay?"
"Sounds good woman. Then we can row out to the island and have a picnic, and some of your Dutch apple pie."
"Only, if you remember the cheese. Without it, 'fraid it's like a hug without a squeeze. Me without you."
"And me with out you. Now, that's a bad idea! From now on in, let's make sure our boxes are full by loving on each other--do it 'neath the branches of our favorite old pine tree. You know, the one I carved our initials in when we were kids? At the very top. When you were so afraid I'd crash to the ground?"
"Sounds good old man."
"Oh, I almost forgot. I wanna introduce you to some new folks staying out on our island. Nice folks--but odd--don't cover themselves up much. Run around half nekkid playing games like "Cockle Bread."
"Fixen to do what?"
"From what I seen, young wenches got up on a table and gather-up their shifts and pettycoats--just as high as they could--then they wabbled to and fro with their buttocks, singing, 'Up with your heels, down with your head; that is the way to make cockeldy bread.'" (2)
"Well, I never heard the likes of such mischief . . ."
"The wife said it was part of the customs they brought with them from their North British Borders to the Appalachians. That they're not like those churchy people on the seashore who prosecute fornicators. Said that instead, they make a merry game out of it all--laugh it all off. He did say though, that every bride is big with child."
"Well, maybe we should pay them a visit and learn some new ways--spice up our eetch for each other afore hand."
"Honey. Thas jest what I was hoping you'd say."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
To Be Continued: Part 2
(1) This was common In Victorian Britain, where middle class young people had few acceptable ways to socialize and meet new people. Today, as then, a "Box Social," is usually a "boy meet girl" fun filled social event intended to raise money for a good cause, where boxes or wicker picnic baskets with cold chicken, potato salad, apple pie (or whatever is the cook's speciality) is packed. The boxes are then auctioned off. Traditionally, they are bought based on the reputation of the preparer's cooking skills, and/or if he or she, is enamored with the "basket maker." (This in days gone by, was the female.) The bidding involves teasing, joking, and competition. Men who take pride in their cooking skills, now provide boxes as well as women, but the primary marketable goal remains the same: raising money for a school, church, or civic project. But, it is thought by some, that there are those involved, who are not indifferent to the various personal benefits and joys of traditional Box Socials.
(2) Fischer, D. H., Albion Seeds, Backcountry Sex Ways: The Border Celebration of Sensuality; Comme, A., The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland (1894-98)
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Madison
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