For most people, the holidays are a truly special time full of family, friends, and unspoken social customs governing everything from the greetings you can use to just HOW much nutmeg is acceptable when garnishing eggnog. In my case, however, “the most wonderful time of the year” is mostly just characterized by my baking addiction coming to the surface in the form of a frightening quantity of gingerbread cookies, and by me ceasing to wear anything that doesn’t have an elastic waistband. It’s a pretty swell time. But besides being the prime time for me to embrace my inner sloth, the holidays also never fail to provide a great learning opportunity for me. I come from a decently big family on both my Mom and Dad’s sides, so it’s a given that wacky hijinks never fail to ensue at our annual gatherings. This year did not disappoint. Over many glasses of wine, multiple turkeys and an impressive number of cocktail shrimp, the things my relatives said and did this year taught me four valuable lessons that I have listed below for the benefit of the (maybe two) people who are reading this.
Lesson 1
On the morning of Christmas Eve (I feel like that’s an oxymoron), my family collected in the home of my Aunt and Uncle for brunch. Upon arriving at 11am, I was completely heartbroken by a tragic lack of bacon, but my thoughts were soon diverted by an exchange I witnessed between my mom and my Aunt.
Aunt: “Can I get you anything to drink?”
Mom: “I don’t know, it’s kind of early.”
Aunt: “It’s after 10:30.”
Mom: “That’s true! What do you have?”
They then proceeded to get their drink on along with every other member of my family over the age of 14. You might be thinking “Oh, that’s not weird! My family has champagne at brunch all the time.” This was not champagne. This was screwdrivers, rum and cokes, beer, and other things that have been the downfall of many an Irishman. While I find it sort of respectable that my relatives are capable of going so hard in the seasonal paint, the fact that this happens decently often has started to be a source of mild concern. And let’s be real, no one should be hungover before 2pm.
Lesson Learned: I have a genetic predisposition to alcoholism.
Lesson 2
After everyone was fully saturated with food-and-booze-induced shame at the aforementioned brunch, the relationship statuses of the younger generation of our family came up in conversation. This is always an awkward subject for me to participate in due to the fact that 98.3% of the Forever Single jokes people make refer to me, but there’s 10 of us cousins and I’m usually not the only one flying solo so I just smile and try not to get bitter enough that I turn into the Incredible Hulk (it happens). But this year was different. Not one, not two, but 6 out of the 10 of us are now happily coupled up. That might not sound bad, but you have to take in the fact that 2 of the 4 of us who are still single are under the age of ten, and even then they probably have more wheels than I do. As I contemplated fashioning myself a noose out of tinsel, I was forced to endure excruciating looks of pity and several half-hearted choruses of “You’ll find someone someday!” Thanks, family, for holding on to hope, but I’m resigned to my fate as a crazy cat lady. Even if I am really fucking allergic to cats and will have to drink at least 4 liters of Benedryl a day in order to survive.
Lesson Learned: I may die alone and I hate everyone.
Lesson 3
Later on that day, my Dad’s side of the family came over for dinner and drinks (I wasn’t kidding about the alcoholism thing.) My relatives are awesome folks, but there’s one conversation I always have with them that is several shades of uncomfortable. Yesterday, it went as follows:
Relative: “Hi, dear! How’s school going?”
Me: “Pretty good! I’m definitely enjoying being off for a while though.”
Relative: “I bet! My, you’ve gotten so slim!”
Me: “Gee, thanks!”
This might sound like a nice little chat, but the actual translation is something more like this:
Relative: “Hi, dear! How’s school going?”
Me: “Pretty good! I’m definitely enjoying being off for a while though.”
Relative: “I bet! But holy shit, you’re a lot less fat than you used to be! For a while there you seriously looked like Jonah Hill. Except less pretty.”
Me: “I’m really uncomfortable and don’t know how to reply to your backhanded compliment other than with a thank you.”
Anyone who was a hefty child or large and in charge during their preteen phase can hopefully sympathize with this ordeal. While most people who comment on your improved appearance think they’re being nice, it really just serves as a reminder that you had baby fat until you were 15 years old and Fritos used to be your only friend. But since it was Christmas, I tried to let it slide. After all, it’s the thought that counts. Even if that thought makes you die a little inside every time it’s expressed.
Lesson Learned: My fat years did NOT go unnoticed.
Lesson 4
Christmas day in my house was spent in a frenzy of cooking and cleaning in the cases of my Mom, Dad, and sister, and eating and napping in the case of me. But despite me taking one for the team and keeping to myself to avoid interfering with their activities, the day was not without conflict. The main source of it? The soundtrack. The members of my household have very differing opinions on what constitutes good music; my Dad’s a little bit country, I’m a little bit rock and roll, and my Mom thought Friday by Rebecca Black “wasn’t that bad” which really tells you all you need to know. So needless to say, it’s pretty damn hard for us to agree on festive beats without someone becoming bitter and hostile. But after hours of sparring over radio station changes and one strategically misplaced Jessica Simpson holiday album (you’re welcome, world), a miracle occurred. And that miracle’s name was Michael Buble. Roughly one minute into his chilling rendition of “It’s a Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas”, a magical calm fell over us all. There was humming, there was smiling, and I’m pretty sure I saw my Dad swoon a little. And man, I don’t blame him. I want The Bub to live in my closet so he can serenade me whenever I want. Either that, or I’ll have to go all Ursula from The Little Mermaid on his ass and steal his voice for myself. Can you imagine all the guys I’d get if I sounded like that? …Yeah, probably none, but that’s okay. Like I said, I plan to invest in multiple cats. Anyways, the moral of the story here is that Michael Buble has the voice of an angel and I want to bear his children.
Lesson Learned: Michael Buble has the voice of an angel and I want to bear his children.
All in all, this Christmas was pretty awesome. Not only did I gain a fantastic layer of celebration insulation (that means fat for you laymen), but also a vast wealth of knowledge at the hands of my relatives. And you know what? I think that’s what the holidays are really about. It’s not the presents, the decorations, or the music; all that matters is the embarrassingly inebriated people you spend them with. Happy first day of Kwanzaa everyone!
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