OK. Let’s talk family.

You knew it was coming, didn't you? Christmas is upon us next week, and we will all be rolled, dipped and deep-fried in family. Relatives. Our "kin." People with whom we share genetic material. Yes folks, it's THE HOLIDAYS. You can't avoid it.
I am of the firm belief that God crammed all the heavy-duty family holidays (Thanksgiving and Christmas) in at the end of the year on purpose. He figured that we'd have a good 11 months to forget the nightmare of the previous year's holidays. I love my family, but I am two glasses of wine into this post, so we're going to go with it.
My dad is 91 years old. The nicest thing he can muster at the Thanksgiving or Christmas meal is "I hope you didn't screw it up too bad." His table manners have become atrocious, and he insists on feeding my dogs from the table even though I ask him every year not to. This past Thanksgiving, I actually had visions of stabbing him with my fork during the meal over which I had slaved for three days, but I didn't. There were witnesses, and I might have a hard time living with myself. Maybe not, but it was a possibility.
My sister is two years older than I am. The last time she visited planet Earth was sometime on the early 80s. Every year, she volunteers to bring the legendary "green bean casserole," and every year, she shows up two hours late with all the ingredients in a Kroger bag. By that time everyone has eaten, so she dutifully takes her Kroger bag of ingredients home and puts them in the pantry until next year. I have seen the same two cans of green beans every year since 1981.
She also insists on bringing her one-eyed Jack Russell to my house, although every year I ask her not to. The dog's favorite place in the whole world to poop is on my carpet. He barks incessantly, and my 75-lb. mixed-breed mutt is completely and utterly in love with him. The entire time my sister is in my home every year, my huge dog tries to breed with her tiny dog, and it's a bizarre, grotesque sight, very difficult to stomach during a meal. But hey, it's THE HOLIDAYS, right?
The same sister is very into the occult, specifically, psychic communications. Last year she told me in all seriousness, as she passed the Christmas ham, that she had consulted a pet psychic to find out whether her pet cat Bear was mad at her. You see, Bear passed away about 30 years ago, and my sister was not with him when he crossed over into the Great Beyond. In all likelihood, she was out howling at the moon or stringing garlic cloves for a necklace. The psychic assured her that Bear was not angry with her. I suggested that he probably was still a bit miffed, and my sister has never spoken to me since. That would be the fabled silver lining, folks.
My brother-in-law, God rest his soul, will not be joining us this year. When he was alive though, he never failed to show up for the occasion with his car fully involved in a four-alarm fire. No, I am not kidding. The car never died; it just seemed to catch fire every year in November or December. This brother-in-law is the one who always asked the younger children to pull his finger. You know exactly the one I'm talking about.
Then there's the nephew who perpetually has his hand out. He always "forgets his wallet" or is running just a bit short. He has the art of mooching down to a science.
Oh, and let's not forget my aunt, the one who has taken it upon herself to show me the error of my ways ever since my mother died. She'll drop comments like, "Goodness, you are so brave to wear that color. In my day, large women usually stuck to black," or "you really should tell your daughter that it gives boys the wrong idea when she's allowed to stay out that late." I have had fantasies about stabbing this one with a fork, too.
So here's to the THE HOLIDAYS, friends. Love your family, try to tune them out, and have plenty of wine on hand. Just to be safe this year, I think I'll provide plastic utensils only.