The “Welp, I Best Mosey On” Moment

Let’s set the scene: you’re sitting on the couch, surrounded by family or friends, and you glance up at the clock… It says 8pm. It’s definitely time for you to leave… but the problem is, how do you not make it awkward? You’ll probably do something like this: slowly get up out of your seat, pat your knees, and say “Welp! I should probably mosey on.” (Or some phrase with a similar meaning like, “Wow! You know, I should get going—gotta check on the dog” or "Spose we should head out.") To make it less weird (which usually ends up making it more weird), you do that stretch and yawn combo followed by a semi-stiff-legged few steps toward the entryway to grab your coat.

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And then everyone else looks around and slowly trails behind you. And someone says, “Well then, we will have to look at the calendar for the next time we see you.” And someone else grabs the dozed off dog from the couch to cradle him like a baby and carry him into the kitchen. You can hear the kiddos still playing downstairs (and usually you'll leave them there to play until you actually leave; otherwise they get bored while the adults talk). As you make a beeline to grab your jacket off the hook, everyone else congregates in the kitchen.

Next Step: Linger in the Kitchen

Everyone gathers around the kitchen counterspace and watches you put on your coat. Eventually, someone will make an out-of-pocket, random joke or comment like, “Did you guys know that Dale’s car got broken into just down the street?” or “Did anyone celebrate in remembrance of the Edmund Fitzgerald?”

So you, already zipped up in your jacket, stand there in the doorway between the entryway and the kitchen. At this point, you have already grabbed the leftovers assigned to you or any other belongings. And you’ll just linger.

Your mother will likely start a round of goodbye hugs, squeezing you tightly and reminding you to help her next week with fixing her phone (‘cause she has no clue where “settings” is) and tell you that, “Dad needs someone to pick him up from the golf course this weekend ‘cause I’m going to get my hair done at the same time.”

Then… The Door

Then… you slowly (but surely) make your way towards the door. The pace to the door is usually dependent on the nature of the current conversation. If it’s a topic that is still producing lively conversation—you’re stuck. Every Midwesterner knows that no matter how close the door is, walking through it will take more than twenty minutes (at least).

And, on your way there, you’ll talk about five different, very diverse things. From how spectacular the appetizer was to your oil change scheduled for next week to a distant memory of your younger brother on a family vacation to Cancun eight years ago.

It all happens in the entryway.

And, pro tip, make sure you go to the bathroom before you reach this step. Because if you don’t, you’ll likely have to restart the entire process over.

Another Round of “We Really Should Get Going”

At this point, you’ve got your hand on the door knob (ready to make a run for it). But… you can’t. It’s time for the second round of hugs. This indicates that you actually mean it’s time to leave and no fun fact your uncle throws out there will convince you to stay.

This is the time you remember you have kids (if this applies to you) and call them upstairs to put their jackets and shoes on. You’ll linger in the entryway a little longer for this process to continue until everyone is bundled up ready-to-go.

And now, about fourty-five minutes have passed since you started your exit.

Slowly Open the Door

Now, you make your way through the garage or front porch to your car. Your friends or family will follow you to the extent of the edge of the porch or garage (likely in their socks and without a jacket) and watch as you load up. They’ll make some comment about your vehicle or how their landscaping needs work or something about how messy the garage is while you nod your head and use filler words like “yup” and “uh-huh.” They’ll say things like “wow, it’s chilly out here” as they rub their arms and bend their knees slightly (again, because they decided to walk outside without a jacket and shoes).

And now, once the car is loaded up and you’re about to slip into your seat, you’ll receive a friendly, “watch out for deer!”

The Final Wave Goodbye

You’ll reply with “will do” and you’re finally free to put the car in reverse and head home. And this occurs as your loved ones stand on the porch or in the garage to wave you away until your car disappears down the road.

Once you turn the corner, your spouse (who isn’t from the Midwest) will look over you and say, “I thought you said we were leaving by 8?”

It’s precisely 10 o’clock at night and you’ve just left. You say, “I did… but I thought you knew how it goes.”

Because in the Midwest, leaving doesn’t actually mean leaving. It means announcing your departure, making a way to the kitchen, then to the entryway for another round of goodbyes, accepting a container of leftovers you probably didn’t ask for, discussing the weather once or twice, and then standing in the doorway or driveway for an extra 45 minutes talking about anything and everything.

Your spouse shakes their head, half amused and half bewildered. You just shrug. Because it’s tradition. It’s habitual. It’s the long Midwestern goodbye—equal parts affection, obligation, and pure cultural inertia.

And as the porch light fades in the rearview mirror, you can’t help but smile.

Because leaving late isn’t an inconvenience. It’s proof you’re loved enough to stay.