It had been another glorious holiday weekend visit with my in-laws in Bradenton, FL. Radiant sunsets along the Gulf, bike rides on the trails through Robinson’s Preserve, cheesecake flan, black beans and rice, games of Aggravation and Farkle, interminable glasses of pinot noir, a bit of festive Cuban dancing to the island sounds of Renesito, dogs barking incessantly at cats and birds, and pushing our kids on the magnificent rope swing in my in-laws’ side yard.

With our Sienna loaded with my family’s luggage and dog, it was time to gather in the driveway and say our goodbyes, which would include hugs, pecks on the cheek, and the obligatory, “We must do this again real soon!” and “What a lovely visit!” and “Are you sure you remembered everything? You did a check throughout the house, right?” and “I’ll miss you, but I’ll miss your cheesecake flan the most! Ha ha!”

My mother-in-law, Sherry, is one of the finest people on Earth, and as far as mothers-in-law go, I couldn’t ask for a better one. She laughs at all my dumb jokes, patiently listens to me as we debate the subtle nuances of belief, recommends great books for me to read, makes me anything I want in the kitchen, to my knowledge has never said to my wife “Why did you ever marry this loser?”, and is an incredible grandmother to my two children. She has the robust energy and enthusiasm of a dozen circus clowns, and she is the life of the party wherever she goes, because she brings the party with her. Cuban matriarchs tend to do that. I love her dearly, which is why at the end of every visit I gladly give her a warm embrace and kiss on the cheek. This departure would be no different. Only it would.

The hug-fest began in the circular driveway. As I made my way to Sherry—her arms open wide, ready to receive me—I opened my arms even wider, preparing for the magical moment. We were both smiling ear to ear as we closed in toward each other. We had made this move a million times in our 20+ year history, so we had the mechanics down pat. I’d lean to my left, she’d lean to her left, and we’d link together in a beautiful embrace. Like gears tumbling into place. I’d pat Sherry’s back with my right hand, and she’d make some kind of joke about the cheesecake flan while resting her chin on my right shoulder. It was so routine we could have done it with our eyes closed.

But this time it was different. We had an extra, unforeseen variable to consider. My exuberant young son (8) ran toward Sherry just as I was about to close the final distance for our one-on-one embrace. Coming hard from my left, my son charged forward like a linebacker, causing Sherry to change her arms’ trajectory a bit to account for the third person in this hugging trinity. I didn’t have time to slow my own momentum and recalibrate. Sherry received my son and me simultaneously, and, as is her nature, willingly pulled us tightly into her ample bosom, squeezing us both to death. One major malfunction: my right arm didn’t make it around Sherry’s shoulder and back as planned. Instead, it got pinned against Sherry’s bosom, and my right hand, palm completely open, inadvertently cupped Sherry’s left breast. It was stuck, with no chance of being freed. The tighter Sherry squeezed us both, the more I was giving Sherry an impromptu breast exam. It’s true: I was, unwittingly, copping a feel from my mother-in-law.

But it got worse. In Sherry and my son’s unadulterated joie de vivre, they both began bouncing up and down like giddy female gymnasts congratulating each other after a perfect 10, laughing uproariously. Sherry then shook us vigorously back and forth while nuzzling my son’s neck and giving him zerberts to his delight. I felt every bit of Sherry through my right hand and arm, unable to extricate it no matter how hard I pulled. There was nothing to do except hang on for the ride and hope I made it through unscathed. I held on for several seconds until Sherry and my son settled down. When Sherry released us both, I nonchalantly brought my right hand and arm back to my side and downplayed the moment. I’m not sure if Sherry even knew what had happened. But I knew. Some things you simply can’t unfeel.