3 Easy Tips For Surviving Your First Family Christmas With Your Significant Other


So you’re in a semi-committed, not completely mind-numbing, “the sex is okay for at least the foreseeable future” relationship. I’d congratulate you, but there are probably enough people in your life feigning happiness for you. Since the holiday season is now upon us, I assume you and your lovely man or lady friend are making plans that revolve around each of your families.

Forgive me if I also assume that all of those “merry” and “bright” references in those festive jams pumping through the speakers at the mall are referring to Xanax highs and drunken stupors. I don’t know about you, but my definition of “crippling anxiety” is: any activity that involves the conjoining of the people I’ve spent my entire life with and the person I potentially, if the stars align, might at some point in the distant future plan on spending the rest of my life with.

I’m 24-years-old. That’s a lot of embarrassing stories. More importantly, that’s a lot of embarrassing stories that don’t need repeating. I’ve spent a number of months trying to make myself seem like a date-able, functional member of society. I don’t need crazy Uncle Ralph discrediting that theory in one visit by sitting in the recliner, 12 beers deep and shirtless, telling my boyfriend that I called chicken legs “chicken feet” until I was 15-years-old. The only thing worse than embarrassing stories about the past are follow-up questions about the future. Stop asking when my boyfriend plans on popping the question or knocking me up, Ralph. Back off.

So, I want to help you out. It’s the holidays and I’m in the giving state of mind. So, from my family to yours, here are three easy tips to survive bringing your significant other home for the holidays.

1. Disappear from the face of the earth.
This one seems a lot harder than it actually is, but it’s extremely doable. All you have to do is drop off the grid. Change your phone number, delete your social media accounts, empty your bank account, and hole up in your shitty, one-bedroom apartment. When your significant other comes knocking on the door, ready to leave for the Christmas from hell, just pretend you’re not there. Your parents will assume the worst, but it takes at least 24 hours to file a missing persons claim, which is 24 uninterrupted hours of naps and watching the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show if you know how to play your cards right. Christmas comes but once a year, and if you can dodge the FBI, you can dodge your first family Christmas with your special person.

2. Make friends with your neighborhood drug dealer.
This is essentially the adult version of making friends with your college drug dealer, but instead of pot or Adderall, you’re more in the market for Xanax or Zoloft — any and all options that can pharmaceutically put you out of anything that resembles family participation. This is kind of like the “if a tree falls in the woods, but nobody is around to hear it” concept. If you’re too busy being passed out to hear Uncle Ralph tell your boyfriend that “she was flat-chested ‘til she was seventeen-years-old, God bless her,” or physically see your mom show him pictures of when you were four-years-old, stark naked in the bathtub, and covered in chicken pox, did it really happen? When your boyfriend tries to bring it up, deny, deny, deny. Uncle Ralph is a perverted, old man who recently discovered hallucinogens and mom finally figured out Photoshop. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

3. Break up with your boyfriend/girlfriend.
Not forever, so calm your shit; but maybe “take a break” so you can “spend this time with your family to really understand what it is you want from this relationship.” Exchange presents, ensure your man or lady friend that you still love them, and text them throughout the trip like it’s a typical day. You’ll come back from your parents’ seeking a sane individual and, therefore, be missing your special man or lady friend so much that you’ll return almost like a brand new person. No family meet-and-greets, no embarrassing stories, and pictures. No harm, no foul. If anything, you’ll escape alive and create a window for amazing sex when you come back. You’re welcome.

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My state gave you J. Law, Clooney, two-fifths of the Backstreet Boys, and multiple fifths of bourbon. I gave you a cover letter using Brian McKnight lyrics. Psuedo-adult by day; PGP, TFM, and TSM contributor by night. Please don't ask me to do math.

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