So. Much. Small. Talk.
Literally every single question will kill part of your soul.
Relative: “How’s school going?” You: “Fine.”
“What are you learning in school?” (Just don’t ask hungover college students annoying questions.)
Relative: “I bet the guys are lining up to be your boyfriend, huh?” You: “Yeah. That’s exactly why I brought my imaginary boyfriend with me today. It’s getting pretty serious.”
Relatives you didn’t even know existed will come up to you and comment on how big you’ve gotten.
So you have to awkwardly smile and wonder if they mean you’re tall or if you’re getting fat.
But you’re totally not getting fat.
Except that all of the clean eating and #fitfam bullshit? Yeah. It’s all pointless now.
If you try to eat healthy food during the holidays, you look like an asshole.
So long, abs.
You inevitably go on the holiday bar crawl in your hometown and see everyone you hated from high school.
And you have to act like you haven’t obsessively stalked them on Facebook for the past three years.
“Oh my God! Hi! Where do you go to school again? I totally forgot you existed. LOL.”
You get way too drunk and make out with the Polish guy from your eleventh grade science class.
Your mom expects you to do chores like a fucking peasant.
EVEN THOUGH YOU’RE ON VACATION.
You push your brother, long lost cousin, and crippled grandmother out of the way to tackle-hug your dog.
Multiple people on multiple occasions will ask if the only thing sorority girls do is party.
And have pillow fights.
And “go steady” with frat guys.
Yes, that’s obviously all you do in your honorable, 100-year-old organization. Duh.
You drunk text your high school boyfriend, because, you know, memories.
Your mom cries at dinner when she has to say what she’s thankful for.
Then your aunt cries.
And then you cry. But, like, you’re just really, really thankful that your ex still hasn’t changed his Netflix password.
You give as many people as possible a picture frame as a gift, because you’re a sweetheart. And poor. Mostly poor.
The cousin who you’re always competing with will arrive with a sexy boyfriend, her itinerary for her philanthropic “alternative spring break,” and larger breasts.
You just try to sweet-talk your rich uncle into funding the
party-filled spring break your parents are terrified of letting you go on. Drunk relatives are everywhere. You are not safe. I repeat, you are not safe.
Facebook is littered with depressing things like engagement announcements, holiday weddings, and adorable pregnancy photos.
Because of that, going on social media to avoid your family isn’t even an option.
You go through your old clothes, find a pair of size 00 jeans from Hollister, and cry because life fucking sucks.
Board games. A lot of effing board games.
Questions about your relationship status are asked at every turn.
And no, you don’t have a boyfriend. And yes, you know that your grandma had three kids by the time she was your age. Thanks for the reminder.
And if you
do have a boyfriend, you have to deal with the fact that he’s at home, in the same town where his high school girlfriend lives. That’s basically the definition of torture. Every single gift hint you have dropped will go entirely unnoticed and you’ll receive things like festive socks.
Or “College Algebra For Dummies.”
Or clothes that were obviously picked out by someone who sincerely hates you.
You will get drunk at a family event and you will forever be reminded of it at every other future family event.
Pictures of you at age 13 resurface during nostalgic photo album look-throughs.
And yes, they will make you regret choosing multicolored rubber bands for your braces.
Or ever being 13.
You have to deal with the fact that your family didn’t make a “Christmas Jammie” music video, and that’s just a really shitty way to start the holidays.
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