Birthday dinner? She cries because nobody asked enough questions about her job. Baby shower? She gets drunk and starts telling people who cheated on who in 2017.

Last Christmas she called my sister fake in front of the kids, then locked herself in the bathroom for forty minutes.

Now I am planning a backyard dinner and honestly, I do not want her there.

My mom says leaving her out will cause drama. Inviting her also causes drama. So apparently the only option is drama with folding chairs.

Do I invite her because family, or let her find out on Facebook like everybody else?

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She sent everyone a link to matching pajamas. They are forty eight dollars per person.

There are five people in my house. I am not spending nearly two hundred fifty dollars so we can look like a catalog family for nine minutes.

I told her we would wear red shirts instead.

She said that would ruin the photo and asked why I never participate.

I participate. I just do not enjoy being assigned a costume by text message.

Now she says I am making it about money. It is about money. The pajamas cost money.

Was I too blunt?

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I am not putting it here because honestly it is so specific she would know this was me. But imagine a prescription drug mixed with a medieval horse.

Everybody at dinner did that fake smile. You know the one. Mouth says cute, eyes say dear God.

Then she asked me directly what I thought and I panicked and said it was “really unique.” Which is family code for what the hell are you doing.

Now she keeps sending me nursery stuff with the name on it, so clearly this train has left the station and has custom wall letters.

Do I tell her before the kid has to spend 80 years spelling it, or mind my damn business?

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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?

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Last year it was a backyard campout. Three weeks later, my sister threw her daughter a backyard campout with the same tents, the same flashlight favors, and a professional s’mores table.

This year we did a tiny garden party. She has now announced a garden party with a flower cart and rented rabbits.

She never says she got the idea from me. She acts like we both received the same message from the birthday gods.

My daughter notices. I notice. Everyone notices.

Do I say something, or do I start planning an extremely inconvenient submarine party?

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