March is upon us people, comes in like Joan Rivers, out like Kate Upton (or something like that.) You know what this means, the impending arrival of spring. Iron your seersucker shorts, wax your kittens, choose your new Lilly print and throw some highlights in those dreary locks of yours, the socialite season is upon us. If you have any hopes of surviving what the Mayans predict will be the last spring of your lives, you are going to have to deal with your crazy families. Remember, we don’t choose them. The hedonistic higher being has a sick sense of humor and plays a cruel joke on all of us... forcing us to share genes with people who make a Manson family outing look like a bad episode of Family Ties.
Let’s start with the root of all insanity: parents. You must love them, even if they are responsible for your nail-biting habits, your racked-up therapy bills and your convict boyfriend. If your parents are like mine, their relationship is basic and healthy: only consisting of phone calls and registered letters from attorneys and law officials. When my mother decides to speak about my father, her dialogue would make George Carlin blush, completely normal, I agree. When it comes to navigating through your parental interaction, just be yourself. They changed your diapers, caught you facedown in your bed at the age of 15 smelling like peach schnapps and Abercrombie Fierce, and picked you up from after school detention on the regular. They understand that you are a complete and utter train wreck. They embrace it and are hoping that some handsome heir to millions of dollars will find your chemical imbalance quite charming and decide to marry you without forcing a prenuptial agreement.
Next, siblings. As siblings, you should consider yourself on the same team. Think of it like a flip-cup game. Your weak player will bring you down. What is the prize? Grandparents’ love. The grandparents are looking for the grandchildren who outshine the others. YOU may be a published Rhodes scholar with a PhD in sociology, but if your brother is the lead singer of a death metal band who lives in a one room apartment in Revere, the odds are against you. This equates you to two subpar individuals with a bourgeoise income and an Associate’s degree in African Literature. You will never make it to the top of Nana and Papa’s trust fund with a team like that. Get your shit together people. Your cousins are the enemy. Just realize it already.
Aunts/ Uncles. Oh boy. Aunts and Uncles are added to the mix to really make things interesting. We all have the aunt who shows up for Easter, gets too drunk off of Bailey’s to drive home, and ends up staying until Memorial Day. Face it, imagine a holiday without her. We must not forget the Uncle with the bad breath and coke bottle glasses... he’ll be wearing the heinous sweater that he will take off by dessert time and be forced to walk around in his frayed white undershirt with the yellow armpit stains. His jokes are corny and his laugh is annoying, but you will never be able to remember how he is actually related to you. He is sort of just there, by default.... “Wait, uncle Eddie is related to who?.....”
The significant other. Deciding whether or not you want to bring your current love-interest around the family is a serious decision. It can go extremely well, or it can go terribly. It does not matter if you really even like this guy, once again you have to have the best date. It is all about the competition people. I don’t care if he sings you Jack Johnson songs before bed and massages you in hot Egyptian oil after your shower, if Grandma does not like him, you might as well bring Tommy Lee to next year’s dinner. Yes, your cousin’s husband could be the CEO of Charmin Toilet paper, but if he showed up at my house with an Obama t-shirt and bad table manners, Grandma is going to make his life a living hell.
Ultimately, the best survival tactic is to ‘fake-it-til-you-make-it.’ Your grandparents really have no idea that you have absurd credit card debt, FEMME FATALE tattooed under your right breast or that you are sexting last night’s make-out victim under the table during Easter dinner. In their eyes, you will always be a perfect little duchess, which you are. Remember, we are a product of our upbringings and yes, that should scare you tremendously. Cheers, dolls.
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