The Spanish Inquisition

Imagine you are sitting at a corner booth in a restaurant where everyone is sitting on one side, you in the middle with two people on either side of you. You, the heretic and non-celebrator of Ash Wednesday, are facing the crowd that has gathered around you (a.k.a. the other restaurant patrons), while members of the high court, err, your family flank either side. To your far left is the grand matron of the court, your bat-shit crazy grandmother. (You can say that because you love her and she is bat-shit crazy). To your immediate left is Father; to your immediate right is Mother; and to the far right is the Aunt you love dearly but drives you nuts because no one should ever be that emotional (at least when intoxicated.)

It's not to say you don't enjoy the magic show otherwise known as your family, because really, where would you be without them? It's your grandmother's empty (or not-so-empty) threats to everyone about eating meat on a holy day that kind of make you feel a little guilty about not stepping foot into a Catholic church for five years but also tell you to keep your mouth shut unless you really do want her to breathe fire. Your quest for some type of faith is not something unknown to your parents and they seem okay with your journey, although you think they would secretly like you to find your way back to your homeslice Pope Benedict and maybe even Jesus if you feel really ambitious. Then there's your mother, who in some way you feel as though you are never going to measure up to. You can't even be confident in the food you're ordering off of the menu because you feel she might be judging you and biting her tongue at the same time, a skill she's excelled at ever since you left for college. Your father, is well your father. You have his eyes, his nose, his big mouth, and his temper. It's a wonder you don't hate one another.

Dinner with the family is usually fine, but rarely without something that goes awry. Like when your grandmother leaves the table for the moment and gossip ensues about which member of family she's hating this week. Apparently it's your uncle, because your aunt has noticed that their wedding picture was face down and backwards among the many others in Grandma's living room. Or when Grandma starts talking bat-shit crazy again and has lovely racist comments to share with all. Then you just wish she'd actually take her bat-shit crazy pills.

Alas, you've escaped dinner unscathed, but maybe you won't be so lucky next time. Maybe it's time to get on that job search or the diet you've put off for about 10 years. Next thing you know you'll be sitting in time-out on Grandma's picture shelf.