I was so excited. All our friends and family were coming over for dinner. It was going to be so cool. There were some incredibly interesting people. There was the gay uncle who’s super smart, and the super cool aunt who lives in California and the hip uncle who moved into the projects in New Jersey and the school teacher aunt who studies everything and is really funny. And I was really looking forward to seeing the uncle I don’t know very well who lives way out in Washington state and knows everything about what’s going on with the weird weather.
Sure, there were going to be a couple of rich uncles who always try to relate to me, but I knew I could mostly ignore them. I hardly know them anyway.
But as the day grew closer, one, then another, called and said they couldn’t come. Lots of them said they couldn’t afford it. And, in the end, all we got were the three really old uncles.
The first is the most horrible. He’s from New York but he lives in Florida and has an embarrassing comb over and ridiculous fake tan, and all he ever talks about is himself and money. He’s a big liar and says “tremendous” all the time. He golfs everyday but says he never golfs. He’s really weird, except he’s got a really pretty wife, but she doesn’t seem to like him much.
The second one is a nice enough guy, but like the “fake tan” uncle he just can’t let himself get old. He’s got these hairplugs and super white teeth and challenges people to pushups and talks about the old days and all the good things he did when he hung out with my favorite uncle we never see any more. I always used to go to him when I was feeling down or misunderstood, but now he just kind of puts me off by trying to seem hip and with it when he pretty much doesn’t seem to have a clue. I guess I’m not that interested in hearing about the old days all the time. He still brings me presents, though, but I think he’s losing it. But my mom likes him a lot, so that makes me happy to have him around.
The third one – boy, you’d better agree with him or he starts yelling and waving his arms and pointing out everything we do wrong. Mostly, what he sees is pretty much spot on, but it sure wears me down to listen to him. He’s like some grouchy old badger. My friends all love him, so at least they’ll come around when he’s here. But he kind of makes me feel ashamed, so I try to stay out of his way. And he never combs his hair.
I sure do wish that some of the other folks had made it. Now it’s going to be just some old men yelling at each other. I’m just going to eat and be polite and then go into the other room and close the door.
It makes me really sad. We could have had such a good time.