Scrooged

All of the family bullshit I wrote about an entry or two ago has caused me to start thinking about the holidays. This must be the time of year when everyone who doesn’t have a perfect family starts getting stomach pains.

My father called me the other day and asked me what my Christmas plans were. My husband and I have agreed with each other that Christmas is for kids and a royal pain in the ass for everyone else so we are NOT doing gifts this year. You hear that everyone??? Do not get us anything because we are not getting you anything. I am tired of walking aimlessly around the mall trying to figure out what my father in law likes besides cats and whisky. Or worrying that if I get my mother in law a house robe or some other article of clothing that the size tag will offend her. Let’s be honest sweetie, you’re fat. Oh, and joy of joys!!! Getting a present for my dad’s girlfriend. This usually involves scrounging in the housewares department of Winners or Walmart to find the cheapest most thoughtless thing I can possibly get. Now there’s the Christmas spirit! Hey look, it’s a candle holder in the shape of a turtle. It was made in Ghana and it cost me $3.99. Merry fucking Christmas, you money sucking, gold-digging whore. How about a gift for my dad? Sure, time for another bottle of rum from the LCBO because, as we all know, my father is a raging alcoholic and that pretty much sums up his hobbies. I wonder if he’ll get drunk and yell at one of his girlfriend’s relatives again this year. Oh the anticipation!

Now it’s time to hop in the car and head over to the in-laws. Ahh, I can smell the burnt Christmas cookies from blocks away; we must be getting close!


Fa la la la la.

Here we are! Oh look and they even dragged Grandma out from the home to prop her on the couch and insult everyone under her breath for the whole afternoon. Watch out now; don’t give her more than a glass of that cheap shitty French white wine you always serve or UH OH! Grandma gets really lippy! Here’s a fun activity for when you get bored waiting for the micro-waved ham dinner that tastes like someone wiped their ass with it before it’s put on the table: count how many glasses of said cheap white wine the mother in law has before 3pm. She’s a clever one. I’ll give you a tip: she hides the glass in between a bunch of Christmas cards that she displays on the side table and sips only when she thinks no one is looking.

Dinner time! Wheel Grandma to the table, pretend to eat the fecal-infused tripe that gets slopped onto your plate and count the hours until you can leave. Not until you open presents though! Amongst the other thoughtless gifts littered around the room after the orgy of greed is over are some of the things you have received: a hand-knitted pair of wool socks from Grandma that wouldn’t fit a five year old, a grab bag from the dollar store from mother in law, and a bottle of cheap shitty French red wine from father in law.

Meal finished: check
Presents opened: check
Mother in law freak-out over how one of you managed to ruin yet another Christmas: check
Time to get the fuck out of there.

One night of reprieve at your own house where you and your husband get drunk and talk about how when you have kids it will all be different and those mother fuckers can come to your house for a change if they really want to celebrate the holiday season.

Christmas day.

Dinner at dad and his girlfriend’s house. A giant house with a giant tree and thousands of glittering, sparkling gifts under it. None of these gifts are for you. For some reason your gift is brought up from the basement (still haven’t figured this one out. Guess it isn’t good enough to be put under the imposing edifice that is their holiday tree). For my brother: an ugly sweater and a pair of wool socks. For my husband: something to do with tools, and a pair of wool socks. For me: something to do with make-up and a pair of wool socks. All totally thoughtless, not to mention never very practical. What am I going to do with one of those giant make-up cases that comes with make-up already in it? You know the ones with EVERY colour except the ones that would actually go with your complexion?

Watch dad, his girlfriend and her ungrateful, spoiled brat son and selfish little twit of a daughter open their gifts. Though both in their 20’s, they still make Christmas wish lists. Pretty stupid eh? Yeah, well they get everything on the lists. Last year the “family gift” for all of them was a trip to New York for a few days to go and see a couple of Broadway shows. That and all the other myriad gifts they passed around to each other as usual.

Ding dong! Girlfriend’s idiot and most likely half-retarded inbred relatives come over and it’s time for dinner. Some old woman we are not related to yells at my 23 year old brother to eat his carrots because “they’re good fer ya”. I’m already half in the bag at this point and therefore am audibly amused by this situation. Dirty look from father. Time to shut up and eat my carrots.

Dead silence and I mean DEAD SILENCE while food is consumed. 20 people in a room and not a single one of them can make conversation. Uncomfortable. My brother and I are now both drinking heavily. Husband will be driving home.

And that pretty much sums it up. After dinner you clear the odd plate, mill around the kitchen a few times to make it look like you are cleaning up, and then you can pretty much leave.

Husband, brother and I pile in the car, light our first cigarettes of the evening, inhale deeply and prepare for a long car ride of some serious lampooning and good old fashioned family-bashing.

Repeat again next year, even after you swear you won’t. You know you will.