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I wish they sold travel insurance for holiday get togethers. Not the travel part, they already have that, but the actual get-together part. Some guarantee that your richest, arguably craziest cousin won’t break out his musings about ‘colored people’ in front of you and all your mixed race friends. Some sort of compensation for your only sibling’s blatant bitterness and jealousy. A reliable safe word from the universe when, in spite of all your best intentions the gravy is greasy, the out-of-bird stuffing way too dry, your husband is drinking too much, bringing out his oldest, bluest material. A ‘too much’ neon sign on your eating, drinking, oversharing, cursing, imminent despair. No, make it a gag. A neon gag, that should do it.
Some sort of promise that when it is all over and you are faced with what seems like a preternaturally large amount of dishes for such a small gathering to do ALL BY YOURSELF, that you will look about you and realize how much you truly love these people, every single one and that in spite of failings subtle and grand, these are the faces you want to see again every year for infinity years around your hand-me down table and humble hearth. That this posse of imperfect humans surround you with love, often unspoken, sometimes barely visible to the naked eye and yet palpably there, as comforting as that last piece of pumpkin pie you have saved for tomorrow morning.