Mistletoe is returning to its hemiparasitic life back in the woodland

Kya deLongchamps wonders if we should surrender to the pagan prompting of mistletoe.

THE tradition around mistletoe (Viscum album) might be slipping from favour this year, returning it to its hemiparasitic life back in the woodland.

The idea that any innocent woman (or man) loitering under an upturned twig of the fruity plant is fair game for a romantically tinted lip-lock? You see the problem — #metoo.

Stolen kisses have a hint of criminality these days.

An impulsive naïve gesture from an uninformed man could result in a shrimp canapé being speared to his dress shirt with a cocktail stick.

Instantly he’s the slavering Benny Hill of the evening. According to a new survey by the Irish Congress of Trade Unions, Christmas parties are the most common off-site location of workplace sexual harassment. Now, we’re all terrified.

So many rom-coms feature a doe-eyed pause and festive fumble following an accidental wander beneath a bough of this highly poisonous little plant.

Just as it sucks the life out of its host deciduous tree, its presence in these tender, sensitive times could potentially drain the joy out of any party.

Avoid that person — you know who he or she is likely to be — the one with the mistletoe suspended from the brim of their hat. Ho-ho-no.

It’s rare to have the pleasure of seeing mistletoe (drualas in Irish) in the wild. Most of us will encounter it riding in a bucket on Moore Street in Dublin or in a small, wilting heap at a farmers’ market.

I see Lidl have some pretty bunches this year. It’s a rare, slow-growing plant in Ireland, and it’s not native.

When grown commercially, it’s generally only cut every second year from any position and is spread by birds wiping the unsavoury seed of the berries on the high branches of trees with their beaks.

There it settles in, sprouts and extracts the tree’s nutrients to survive.

The girl-grabbing behaviour around mistletoe has ancient beginnings rooted in fertility and the curious appearance of the white viscin juices of the plant. Sorry, but there it is.

Celtic mythology regarded it as quickening the Thunder Stick of Taranis (I’m going right off the Christmas do as we speak).

The mistletoe we bring indoors is of course female — bearing the berries.

It’s also associated with the son of Frigga, the Norse goddess, but that Viking thread doesn’t seem to convert to snog opportunism today.

Mistletoe was given the respect afforded to many winter evergreens in Christmas decorating in Ireland (fir, holly and ivy) and was pinned up over the front door at Christmas in decades past.

A passing stranger might be given an unexpected kiss beneath the door lintel by the daughter of the house — obliging him, it was said, to buy her a present.

I won’t dig any further into that transactional kiss-of-death.

The more familiar tradition in Britain and Ireland was goosed up in the 19th century amongst Victorian domestic servants, who were generally encouraged into a little bit of merry by their employers over the festivities.

Servants’ balls, for example, where the family of the house would serve and entertain the staff, was a popular, if awkward, bit of fancy dress.

It’s often dramatised on TV for its sly sexual tensions in period dramas.

One can only imagine the secret passions embedded in the hearts of a large household of young unmarried tweeny maids, valets and coachmen.

There must have been sparks flashing underfoot descending the backstairs.

Once a girl was pecked under the mistletoe, a berry was taken by the giver of the kiss, and once the berries were gone the female house-staff were safe until next year.

There’s no set etiquette around mistletoe and kissing, but clearly it’s better reserved for family hugs and kisses, and planting one on a crush you are very sure is completely receptive.

Even then — imagine going in and being left hanging, all puckered up like a tinsel-draped guppy, as he/she strolls away.

Don’t pout and plunge. Take careful aim and consider the style of kiss. Something between an air “mwa!” and a soft cheek peck will save you in most situations.

For a continental feel (when did we start that — it’s everywhere now) — it’s right cheek then left, unless you want a broken nose.

Simply touching cheeks is also affectionate and classy, and cuts down on germ and lipstick transfer.

Shattering someone’s safe, personal space uninvited can be a long-term political and social disaster. Debrett’s advise readers not to “hang around” under the mistletoe.

Just like drinking 12 glasses of punch to please the crowd, there’s no compulsion to accept a kiss and imposing one on a person who works for you is truly uncomfortable and inappropriate in most cases.

If you would not kiss someone with reasonable regularity on meeting — don’t surrender to the pagan prompting of the arboreal shrub.