You know what I love most about the holidays? Family.
I love my family. We are all so different, but thanks to a few marriage certificates, DNA, c-sections and failed attempts to convince my brother he was adopted and needed to go find his real family, we are by law, in some way or another, family. So, being that social norms dictate we come together during the holidays, we do it.
While I can't wait for the pack of assholes to come through my door, I'm know a few are "late" because they are dreading the dysfunction junction my house becomes when we all come together. The exes, in-laws, neighbors, family-less friends, some dude my brother met at a rock-crawling event that he thought was cool...
Don't get me wrong, we all love each other, and the more the merrier. In fact, I'm so close with my siblings we talk regularly. Its just that when we all come together, shit get's real.
My brother's kid stabs his brother with a plastic fork, my kid moons every person that walks by, my mother and I are in the kitchen fighting over why we have to use the good China, when Chinet is a hell of a lot easier. Ain't nobody got time for dishes.
Then, once everyone has settled in to their favorite spot at Dysfunction Junctions, in rocks the Aussie holding a scotch and coke, wanting to know if it's legal to shoot off fireworks on Christmas, because, "Jesus would like fireworks on his birthday."
At this point, every adult has an alcoholic beverage in their hand, with every child double fisting christmas cookies.
It all goes downhill from there.
But isn't what the holidays are about? Family and friends coming together to show their love, watch the dads have a pissing contest or two, eat, drink and be merry?
