Dysfunctional [dis-fuhngk-shuh-nl] – adj 1. not performing normally; 2. having a malfunctioning part of element 3. behaving or acting outside of social norms.
Talk about dysfunctional Thanksgivings! I have been to some doosies in my lifetime but this one has to be the most bizarre, mind-blowing one yet. I should have been prepared because most of our Thanksgivings fall into this realm – but last night was particularly odd. Consider the following:
- The weather was outstanding.
- Everyone arrived on time. Nobody stayed too late.
- The food was delicious, not a single dish ruined or forgotten in the oven.
- Dave did not burn down the house while deep frying the best turkey we have ever had.
- The children were well behaved and no one complained about having to sit at the kids table.
- Everyone helped clean up. No one sat on their ass watching football the entire evening.
- All deep seeded anger, dark secrets, and festering grudges remained exactly where they needed to be – very, very deep.
- The dogs did not accidentally ingest a box of Whitman’s sampler and subsequently go on a five room vomiting spree.
- All of our families were there in full – with a few beloved friends to really make it a party.
- No one overate to the point that they needed to lie down for the rest of the evening, never to be seen again.
What’s that? Oh, you think this Thanksgiving sounds like a freaking Norman Rockwell paitning and where do I get the nerve to call it dysfunctional? Well, MoB readers, I hate to break it to you but — here in America – dysfunctional is the new functional. If you are not completely screwed up in some way – especially during the holidays – then you are NOT normal. And since my biggest complaint from last night’s dinner is that people may have talked about how wonderful everything was a little TOO much (because compliments can get annoying after a while), we are officially DYSFUNCTIONAL. (see definition above).
Please don’t hate us. It actually is really difficult not having ANYTHING to contribute at the water cooler Monday morning when co-workers are swapping war stories about farting uncles, belligerent cousins, and tacky friends. Juicy turkey doesn’t even begin to cut it.
So MoB readers, I hope that all of your Thanksgiving celebrations were as dysfunctional as ours. Please be sure to come visit next Wednesday as my 25th high school reunion is tomorrow night and I’m planning on gleaning a little material.
