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Lunchtime Poll

LTP: 12/13

Today’s lunchtime poll is all about cringe-worthy holiday stories.

Everyone has at least one: that one holiday that was so completely horrible, it has become hilarious in the retelling. I spent one Christmas completely away from family, half the day working at a funeral home (my job at the time), the other half of the day in the company of married roommates who would have much preferred I spend the day elsewhere. Though the day was miserable at the time, in retrospect it’s taken on aspects of some seriously dark humor. (Who spends Christmas Day unlocking a mausoleum for elderly people to unwrap their Christmas presents next to their loved ones’ crypts? Seriously!)

So, tell us in the comments all about the catty comments, knock-down fights, ruined cooking, hilarious conflict, horrifying circumstances, and shitty attitudes that now paint past holidays in a darkly amusing light.

By Meghan Young Krogh

Meghan had a number of quality writing mentors over the course of her education, which just goes to show that you can't blame the teacher for the way the student turns out. Team Oxford Comma represent.

10 replies on “LTP: 12/13”

I don’t yet have any horrible family Christmas stories that have made the mental turnaround to funny. I do have some funny holiday stories that other people would probably find awful, but that’s because my (extended) family owns a funeral home and that’s the only place big enough for our outrageously sized brood, and sometimes there are bodies in the morgue. Do you know what people like to do after drinking a lot? They like to tour morgues.

Oh, I could mine the trove forever. I’ll only submit one.

A few years ago, I returned home for the holidays and was hanging out with my dads side of the family. As fate would have it, my uncle sliced off half of his finger. Not a deep cut. Not a gash. He sliced it off. So we all race to the hospital, me with my dad, blasting his new recent love of Slipknot to combat the bad dating luck he was having. We all huddle in the back emergency room, where my uncle is stretched out on a gurney with his hand wrapped up. My father, being a smooth criminal, asks, ” So, how ya feelin”.

“How the fuck you think Im feeling?”

Silence continues. My dad, again, being a smooth criminal, looks at my uncle and asks, ” So, wheres the finger?”. My uncle hands him a small wrapped object with a finger inside. My dad unwraps it, picks up the finger with his hands and then DROPS IT on the floor. He nonchalantly picks it back up, BLOWS ON IT, dusts off the top and hands it back to my uncle.

Ever since my mom told my grandparents to stop calling me fat (I’m not), they have found enormously passive aggressive ways to tell me that I’m fat without being verbally abusive about it. Last year, they got everyone else in my family REALLY nice clothes that fit them or were at least close to their size. And, they got me a cheap ugly tracksuit in a size XXXL with a control top tummy. I spent the rest of the day in a crop top, happily stuffing myself with food, and got disgusted looks from them all day long. If they could tell me I was fat without using words, I could tell them to go screw themselves without using words, too.

And, they’re coming back this Christmas! I’m excited to troll them hard again this time around.

When I was 20, I came home for Thanksgiving at Grandma’s. At some point the conversation turned to the fact MY MOTHER lent/gave my aunt two vibrators during the aunt’s most recent divorce and that my aunt broke them. I just buried my head in my mashed potatoes and pretended none of this was happening.

Around dessert, the convo turned to blowjobs. As it often does at family gatherings. The pros and cons of the “hummer” were being discussed when my teenage, still in High School cousin says, “What is that?”. One of the aunts starts to explain and teenage cousin cuts her off with a nonchalant “oh, I’ve done that!”. Cue hysterical laughter and father’s yelling.

I picked up my pie and drove back to college.

“I picked up my pie and drove back to college” is how all good stories should end.

I have lived with my husband-to-be for over a year, and we still have to sleep in separate rooms when we visit my family, so I highly doubt hummers will ever be on the conversational menu in our home. Sigh. Three cheers for humiliating conversations.

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