It's Reunion Season

My sister called last night.  She let it slip that there is a family reunion planned this summer.  I also found out they have been having reunions for years.  Obviously, I don’t have enough class and dignity to attend family events.  That’s OK with me.  I don’t want to spend the week with them anyway.  They are proof that the only thing more obnoxious than a bunch of drunken Irish is a bunch of sober Irish.  No offense to the mother country, but I think the only way we have personality is through inebriation. 

My family thinks I’m an embarrassment.  I argue that they are just as embarrassing.  Take my sister Bea.  She lives in the suburbs of Houston and runs the West Cypress Yorkshire Terrier Spa and Retreat.  You go out back and the little rat dogs are floating in the pool atop their blow up rafts.  To the south, you’ll spy the puppy cabanas where they eat capers and drink Evian.  On the north side of the property is the canine nail salon.  Chihuahuas with nail extensions are actually cute.

She gets her money from insurance. Her last three husbands mysteriously disappeared.  She got married again last fall.  I don’t know his name.  Her husbands’ names aren’t worth learning until they have been around longer than the NASCAR season.  So, until Jeff Bodine crosses the finish line in Atlanta, her spouse remains persona non grata.

My niece, Nadine, has a great job.  She was a struggling psychiatrist but decided to close her office and move the practice to the golf course.  She drives the beer cart and offers swing tips and marital advice.  Business couldn’t be better.

My little sister, Sally, is wealthy due to her husband’s invention.  He created the CoffinCam.  You’ve probably heard about it.  It’s the pay per view service funeral homes offer to family members that cannot attend their loved one’s funerals.  The real money has been in the funerals for jerks.  It turn out that many people want to watch  the funeral to make sure the A Hole is actually gone.  The family has prepaid for my services.

I don’t know why these people don’t want me around.  It must be because I’m the poor relative.  Or maybe it’s because, at every family gathering, I bring livestock.