[Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before ]

NOTE: Before I tell you about my Christmas day nightmare with my parents, I'd just to remind you that I told you that my family was like this, just like I told my girlfriend Emma. I say this , because I really fail to see how I can be blamed for something I gave fair warning about. Thank you.

We arrived at my parents' place at sometime between three-thirty and four. I'd figured that was a good time in that it avoided sitting around awkwardly , but didn't look like I was trying to avoid anything. Of course that would've been fine if I hadn't forgotten that Christmas dinner always starts around seven at my parents' place. So we were guaranteed a few hours of awkwardness. It started early as my mother opened the door and felt my cheek with the palm of her hand and said; ‘I wish you'd have shaved. This despite the fact I had roughly zero growth and shaved last night.

‘It keeps the cold out,' I replied. ‘Mom , this is Emma.'

‘Oh yes, we've heard so much about you.'

An outright lie, but at least she was trying to be friendly, I though at the time.                 I've gotta say Emma looked really cute today. She was wearing these slightly flared jeans and a white blouse under a navy v-neck sleeveless wool pullover. She'd kept her hair long and it fell playfully around the right side of her face.

Before I go any further I'll run down the people present at this dinner.

My Dad: Loves to argue, and be counted on to say at least one remark offensive to someone at Christmas, and not care.   

My Mom: Professional nitpicker who can always find some flaw she doesn't care for in anyone.

Aunt Margaret: My Mom's sister. On the surface a friendly woman, but after a few drinks can become a cutting remark champion. Mostly mitigated by the fact that she can cook a turkey.

Cousin Fred: My first cousin and Aunt Margaret's eldest son. No one really likes him and can be a bitter misanthrope. All Aunt Margaret's other kids are able to attend other holiday get-togethers except him. No one's really sure what Fred does for money, only that he occasionally comes home to live.

My Sister: Investment banker who probably looks forward to these things less than I do. Pissed at me today because she thinks I abandoned her at Thanksgiving.

Stephen: My sister's long term boyfriend, and a two year veteran of this dinner. No doubt relieved he's no longer the newest outsider anymore.

First up on the agenda was the ceremonial opening of presents. I hate this, it's just s cornball. Everyone sitting around, while someone hands out the gifts (i.e. me). My family gave the briefest perfunctory thank-yous and superficial smiles as they opened and examined the gifts Emm had brought them. It was actually worse because they received the gifts from each other in a much more exuberant manner. I sensed she was a little crest-fallen by this, though she hid it well. I didn't get anything outstanding, and Emm received a total of two gifts that weren't from me. This segment ended when Fred summed things up best by saying; ‘well now that disappointment's behind us, when do we eat?' He was quickly admonished by Aunt Margaret for his bluntness.

After this Dad, Fred, Stephen and I sat in the living room and variously watched ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas' and the second half of ‘A Christmas Story' (which for some reason was being played on a 24 hr Marathon on TNT-quite why you'd want watch it over and over is beyond me; but I suspect I was missing the point.) Around the time Charlie Brown was shooting his new BB gun into an artificial tree (or it may have been when Scut Farkus was giving his big lecture on the real meaning of Christmas) I headed into the kitchen to check on my girl. Emma'd bravely offered to lend a hand, in an effort to ingratiate herself to the family. I was reaching into the fridge for a beer when my mother fired the first true shot against Emm. She appeared behind me, and in a voice that was neither too soft nor too loud said; ‘I really wish you'd told me you were bringing someone home.'

This was total b-s; I'd mentioned it quite clearly in two separate e-mails. Still I shrugged it off and asked her if there was anything she needed me to do.

‘You can finish setting the table if you like,' she said handing me some glasses. ‘Now I wasn't sure how many wine ones to put out, she is of drinking age isn't she?'

I stared at her witheringly and replied yes. This really pissed me off, not just the remark, but the fact that Emma was a whole six feet away when she said it.                              Once my mother had left the room I went over and put my arm round Emm and half-whispered; ‘hey, don't let her bother you.'

She nodded and smiled wanly. It was at this point I decided to drink more.            

Christmas dinner was filled with typically heartfelt family moments. I'm kidding; it was more of the same, as my family closed ranks against the outsider. It was also here that I began to notice just how embraced Steve had become since my last appearance. Well at least the food was good; my Aunt Margaret may be a crotchety, acerbic old bat, but she sure knows how to cook a turkey. At one point during dinner, my father made a remark that I may never forgive him for. I suppose I could give him the benefit of the doubt that he was absent minded and forgot, or that he simply didn't know, but I don't see the point.

‘So son, have you seen that Kate girl lately?'

‘they broke up Dad,' my sister interceded on my behalf.

‘Oh that's a shame. You know I really liked her.'

‘Yeah, it was five months ago,' I responded sardonically. ‘This is Emma, my current girlfriend; I think you've already met.'

‘Of course. Emma tell me a bit about yourself?'

She looked at me with a raised eyebrow, I shrugged back.

‘Sure, what would you like to know?'

That was her first real error in judgment; my father gets to know people by talking to them as if he's conducting a job interview. My father also asks the questions here missy, especially when talking to a stranger.

‘Well, o-kay , how about you tell me where you met my son?'

‘Oh in San Fran.'

‘What were you doing in ‘San Fran'?' He said to me.

‘On vacation, I stayed at my friend Donnie's place.'

‘Can't stand the place, politically or architecturally,' my Aunt Margaret chimed in.

My father continued the interrogation. ‘How old are you Emma?'

‘Twenty-two.'

He cleared his throat affectedly and looked down his glasses at me. I made a ‘what?' gesture back.

‘So what do you do?'

‘Dad.'

‘It's alright hon. Well I'm still in college if that's what you mean.'

A series of half-eye-rolls and bewildered looks seemed  to overtake the table.

‘I see...'

‘What's going on,' she said in my ear.

I whispered back; ‘my dad's trying to figure out if it's o.k. to like you.'

Things only got worse from there, the remainder of dinner seemed to be riddled with passive-aggressive remarks and slights said in just such a way that they couldn't possibly be construed as deliberately insulting. It was open season on Emma hunting.

After dinner, I was in a foul mood obviously, and I decided more beer drinking was the solution. As I did this I engaged in mind-numbingly boring small talk with my sister and her boyfriend. After he excused himself I discussed why they had treated Emma the way they did.

‘Well what'd you expect. They're always that way.'

‘And they wonder why I try and avoid bringing anyone over.'

‘Hey, remember when Mom and Dad thought you were gay because you kept turning up solo?'

‘They did? No one ever told me that. Listen all I'm trying to say is that this sucks; she really tried to fit in. Is it because she's younger than me?'

‘Well she is young.'

‘So what?'

‘Seriously, she's really young.'

‘Why does everyone keep saying that?'

‘Just to piss you off little bro,' she said reaching over and roughing up my hair. ‘Hey,where is she anyway?'

I didn't know. I'd gotten so wrapped in being bitter, I'd completely forgotten to check on how she was doing. I looked around my parents place, and asked everyone if they'd seen her, but came away empty. Then I thought she must have left and decided to walk back to Jeff's. I grabbed my coat and walked out the door to look for her, but stopped in my tracks when I found her sitting on the ground outside the door with her head resting on her knees.

‘You alright?' I asked crouching down next to her. She looked up and I saw her mascara had been running.

‘Have you been crying?'

‘No.'

‘You Ok?'

‘Your family sucks,' she said with a tone of hurt petulance in her voice.

‘I did warn you.'

She looked at me as if to say she didn't want to hear it.

‘You coming back in?'

‘Can we just leave?'

‘I guess...you know it'll be a nightmare getting a cab.'

‘Let's just go,' she said impatiently.

‘Ok, ok I'll just go back in and get your coat.'

I walked back in, and came face to face with everyone who was now in the living room.

‘Listen everyone, Emma's not feeling so well , so I think we'll just take off.

‘Oh my,' my mother answered. ‘What is it? Maybe we have something she can take.'

‘That's ok, I think she should just go back and lie down.'

‘If you think that's best. Can I give you some leftovers to take?'

‘No, no,' I said moving towards the door.

‘Well , we'll see you again before you leave?'

‘Sure,' I replied insincerely as I left.