The Dreaded Night Has Ended
It's over. The family function is done. And now I shall write all about it. In my family there are two sections. I'll tell first the bad, to get it over with, then the good.
BAD: Chicagoans. Dad's side. Bitchy grandmother, pretentious lawyer uncle, wannabe hippie aunt, two bratty kids with malnurishment issues and napoleon complexes even worse than mine.
The Situation: Grandmother and Aunt didn't recognize me. Looked me up and down weirdly and told me I'm skinny and pretty. The whole night they stared at me in a weird way. They didn't touch me. Thank God. The two bratty girls literally followed me around. I turned, they turned. I escaped them by hiding in the bathroom, but they saw through the ploy after twenty minutes and started talking to me through the door. They had been sitting outside the door, waiting for me to come out so they could tell me about the presents they recieved or some other braggy shit. Basically, they made me want to take a knife to myself. Badly. They left. Enter Good.
GOOD: Foreign relatives. Mom. They are from Israel, Belgium, Hungary, France, and they've all been everywhere else. They are in their seventies, tell dirty jokes in three different languages (Yiddish, Hungarian, and French. Never English.)
Situation: They let me sit with them and listen in, and when they realized I could understand their jokes without speaking the language, especially French, they decided I was officially allowed to join the party. They somewhat translated, and laughed at me when I would respond in broken French. Namely I said oui a lot and gestured. They speak English, but they felt no need to. The only trouble was to figure out what language they were speaking. Four switch-overs in one story is tough to follow. They looked at me nicely and said nice things about me. They also called me pretty, but they were nice and warm about it, not weirdly cold. When they left I kissed them all and hugged them and decided hugging unknowns is a-ok if they're my old foreign relatives. I also know about a million jokes in French about dirty peasants in WWII. Woot. I shall see them again tomorrow night, and they have more things to tell me. I love them.
Summary Of Evening: The beginning, meeting the foreigners, was fun. The middle, being followed by annoying and obnoxious braggarts, was hell. Pure and utter hell. I get so many nice points for not beating them up. The end, back to old people, was hillarious and I felt special. It almost redeemed the evening. Almost.
In closing, I like my mom's family. When I go to Israel I have people to call. And I'd like to meet my cousins, who are apparently my age and funny. Hurrah for my broken French.
BAD: Chicagoans. Dad's side. Bitchy grandmother, pretentious lawyer uncle, wannabe hippie aunt, two bratty kids with malnurishment issues and napoleon complexes even worse than mine.
The Situation: Grandmother and Aunt didn't recognize me. Looked me up and down weirdly and told me I'm skinny and pretty. The whole night they stared at me in a weird way. They didn't touch me. Thank God. The two bratty girls literally followed me around. I turned, they turned. I escaped them by hiding in the bathroom, but they saw through the ploy after twenty minutes and started talking to me through the door. They had been sitting outside the door, waiting for me to come out so they could tell me about the presents they recieved or some other braggy shit. Basically, they made me want to take a knife to myself. Badly. They left. Enter Good.
GOOD: Foreign relatives. Mom. They are from Israel, Belgium, Hungary, France, and they've all been everywhere else. They are in their seventies, tell dirty jokes in three different languages (Yiddish, Hungarian, and French. Never English.)
Situation: They let me sit with them and listen in, and when they realized I could understand their jokes without speaking the language, especially French, they decided I was officially allowed to join the party. They somewhat translated, and laughed at me when I would respond in broken French. Namely I said oui a lot and gestured. They speak English, but they felt no need to. The only trouble was to figure out what language they were speaking. Four switch-overs in one story is tough to follow. They looked at me nicely and said nice things about me. They also called me pretty, but they were nice and warm about it, not weirdly cold. When they left I kissed them all and hugged them and decided hugging unknowns is a-ok if they're my old foreign relatives. I also know about a million jokes in French about dirty peasants in WWII. Woot. I shall see them again tomorrow night, and they have more things to tell me. I love them.
Summary Of Evening: The beginning, meeting the foreigners, was fun. The middle, being followed by annoying and obnoxious braggarts, was hell. Pure and utter hell. I get so many nice points for not beating them up. The end, back to old people, was hillarious and I felt special. It almost redeemed the evening. Almost.
In closing, I like my mom's family. When I go to Israel I have people to call. And I'd like to meet my cousins, who are apparently my age and funny. Hurrah for my broken French.