My family reunion is next weekend and I already feel tired.
It is eight hours at a park in July with warm potato salad, folding chairs and relatives who ask personal questions like they are collecting evidence.
Last time my cousin asked why I had gained weight before she even said hello. My uncle cornered my husband about politics. Somebody’s child licked the watermelon tray.
My mom says I have to go because “family is family.” That sentence has covered a lot of garbage over the years.
I do love some of them. I just prefer them one at a time, indoors, with an exit plan.
Can I fake a stomach bug or am I too old for fake illnesses?
I come from a big family. We survive by lying about prior commitments.
No invitation is worth spending the entire night bracing for impact.
If the name sounds like medication, I need one cousin to say so.
Matching pajamas are cute until one person is expected to finance the whole catalog.
My family would call this petty. My nervous system calls it budgeting.
Some relatives are best enjoyed in small doses with an exit nearby.
Mija, do not spend $250 to look coordinated with people who irritate you.