In Other Words
Created | Updated Oct 10, 2003
When you think of Easter, what springs to mind? Bunnies, eggs, food, family. How about death, mutilation, nuclear warfare and bloody limbs?
That's what I think of when I think of Easter. More specifically, Easter dinner. Allow me to elaborate on the kind of pain I speak of - if you can stomach it.
The remotely interesting part of my story begins at around 9:30 a.m. We've all just returned from church and the smell of afternoon lunch fills the house. My angelic little cousins are gallivanting around the house, strumming 3-string guitars and singing 'God Bless America' and 'Kumbayah'; prompting the rest of us to try our best to suppress the excruciatingly strong urge to strangle them with their own pants. The aunts, uncles, parents and grandparents are all lounging about, trying their best to ignore the younguns while swapping stories that nobody really cares about but listen to anyway out of sheer politeness. Then there's me - in my room, door shut, under my covers in a fetal position, rocking back and forth, praying it'll all go away. Just when I thought that lighting myself on fire was my only escape from this festive hell, my mom calls for dinner. Ok, food... this won't be so bad. I'm a big fan of food.
Oh how terribly wrong I was. I toddle down the stairs and the sight I see in the kitchen is rather unnerving. Every single family member in my house - that's about fifteen or so people - is standing around the food. Not eating it, exactly. Just standing there. I know what they're all thinking, they're thinking, 'Oh, I'll just be the polite one in the family and let everyone else eat first so Grandma and Grandpa will send me more money come Christmas time.' Which isn't a bad plan, except it's the exact same plan that everyone else has. So there they all stand, staring at the food, mumbling, 'No, really... you go ahead, I'm not that hungry anyway.' 'Noo! I insist! Go on! Ladies first!' I, being the kind person I am, pay no attention to this and dig right in; budging in line ahead of everyone else who wasn't eating anyway. This is their cue, they've paid their kindly duties, and all follow suit. Stupid family. Then of course there's the signature 'kid table' and 'big people table'. I just recently graduated to the 'big people table', which should have happened years ago when my legs became too long to properly fit under the card table they use for the chillin's.
Dinner was fine and dandy, the usual ham (which was cold), corn casserole (with un-cooked noodles strewn about it in a suspended solution fashion), stuffing (burnt on top, gummy on the bottom), and as much caffeine as I can down in a short amount of time. There's small talk, oh yes there is, but not enough to drown out the sounds of chewing, slurping, sloshing, and grunting. We may be a proper family, but no one said we were perfect. My grandpa HAS to throw in his signature dinner line, 'Oh, I'll get seconds, sure! But I'll wait on you like one hog waits on another, so I'm goin' now!' Even though no one else was planning on seconds anyway. But if he doesn't say that line a rip will appear in the time/space continuum and all of humanity will be engulfed into an eternity of dimentional chaos. And nobody wants that.
Feeling content, I wobble upstairs and fall into bed. I grab my notebook with full intention of writing up this little editorial of mine, but I make it about as far as the 'I'm a big fan of food' line, and fall asleep - FOR SEVEN HOURS. Talk about a long nap... I didn't wake up until well into late evening. So much for getting sleep tonight. But that's getting off topic.
So there you have it. MY Easter dinner. Just be glad you're not in MY immediate family - I'd rather endure hours of Chinese Water Torture. I'd rather endure a night in a smelly dungeon in the pit of a damp castle. I'd rather endure nine straight hours of Barbara Streisand movies... *shudder*1. By the way, if anyone has an extra seat at their next Easter dinner, FOR GOD SAKES INVITE ME. What kind of person would you be, making me endure this for one more year?! HOW DARE YOU! YOU FIEND! *ahem* sorry. My bad. Thank you for your time. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go finish off the leftovers.
Your little h2g2'er,
