Because It’s Tradition, That’s Why
Conversation with my mom many years ago:
Mom: (groan) I don’t want to do Thanksgiving. I don’t want to do all that cooking. I don’t want all those people over.
Me: Then don’t.
Mom: But it’s tradition…
(Following year, year after that, year after that, etc.)
Mom: (groan) I don’t want to do Thanksgiving. I don’t want to do all that cooking. I don’t want all those people over.
Me: Then don’t.
Mom: But it’s tradition…
(Finally one year)
Mom: (groan) I don’t want to do Thanksgiving. I don’t want to do all that cooking. I don’t want all those people over.
Me: Here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to do Thanksgiving. You’re going to do the cooking. You’re going to have people over. You’re going to complain about not wanting to, but you will anyway. It’s tradition.
Mom: Oh. Alright then.
Now it’s my turn. Jason doesn’t understand my relationship with the holidays. I get excited and count the hours after Halloween until my family lets me decorate. Then on Thanksgiving Day, the official portal to the Holiday Season, I bitch nonstop about how no one helps, how expensive the food is, how I don’t have any counter space to prepare, how I hate everyone and the dumb looks on their faces, and how my husband is in an emotionally abusive relationship with the Detroit Lions.
Then, after I’ve passive-aggressively cleaned up after everyone by banging pots and pans loudly in the sink, I put my feet up and gush about what a wonderful time I’m having. My family can’t understand this when twelve hours prior, I was telling them to burn in hell for going number two after I cleaned the toilet. Now after a long day, I’m all smiles and asking who wants to help put up the Christmas tree.
Conversation with my husband a couple nights ago:
Jason: How can you like the holidays so much when you complain about them nonstop?
Me: It’s not just me; it’s every person who hosts holidays. They bitch incessantly then gush about how much fun it was.
Jason: That makes no sense.
Me: (Shrug) But it’s tradition…
