I, the Married Guy, am spending Christmas with my in-laws. A two-word summation: it blows.

I have a family too, you know. But apparently one Thanksgiving dinner with them is an even trade off for me spending an entire week in the suburbs of a city I don’t like pretending I don’t think the place, the food, or the people suck, when, in fact, that is exactly what I think.

I know what you’re thinking: at least I’ll swing some decent swag out of this personal sacrifice. Nope. These people are the worst fucking gift-givers ever. I’d rather unwrap boxes of dogshit than old man sweaters, towel sets, and gift certificates to T.J. Maxx. My mother-in-law is apparently under the assumption that I’m a 37-year old gay man. After two years it’s to the point where I just root for a present that I can exchange for something halfway decent, but I’m starting to come to the conclusion that these people shop exclusively at flea markets.

As an added bonus my father-in-law is the single most boring human being on the planet. The guy might as well exhale carbon monoxide because I feel like I’m dying a slow death every time I hear “flat tax” exit his lips.

Sports, movies, television: that’s the short list of things my father-in-law is not into. What. The. Fuck. Seriously? Until I met this corpse of a man I had no idea there was anything else to be into. Apparently fishing and C-Span are interests. News to me. I keep getting yelled at by my wife for sneaking into the spare bedroom and watching the NFL on a thirteen inch television instead of twiddling my thumbs in the living room to a seemingly endless running of Animal Planet.

This is miserable. I used my vacation days for this. Her mom keeps talking about grandkids. I’m pretty sure my brother-in-law is actually the 37-year old gay man. I’ve made myself sick eating sausage balls because I’m trying to concentrate on the one pleasant thing here. I have three units on the Chargers tonight, and I just overheard someone talking about caroling. I will fake a case of mono or sever my own finger before I go caroling. I just threw up in my mouth a little. Yep, it’s the sausage balls.

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