Henry and I started having these dumb cemetery picnics back in 2005, during the Christmas when I was pregnant and my family abandoned me, lol. This sounds like an episode of Teen Mom but I promise you I was 25. Anyway, it was kind of cute and I was happy that we were doing our thing on the holiday instead of relying on other people to invite us over and feed us like we’re a joint charity case, so it became something that we kept doing even when things were better and drama-free – we’d always carve out some time in the afternoon for a quick sandwich at the cem before heading over to my grandma’s house or whatever. And the last several years, we found out that this one amazing bakery called Pink Box is open on Christmas Day so we started going to a different cemetery that’s down the street from Pink Box and I gotta tell you, it’s a really delicious tradition to have!
This year though it snowed really bad on Christmas Day and to be honest, I was content hanging at home where it was warm and cozy. We waited until the weekend and had our belated picnic on a much warmer day (I mean, it was like 30 degree probably so not “warm” but better than a snowstorm, I guess). This meant that in addition to Pink Box buns, we were also able to hit up the neighboring Allegro Hearth Bakery for some plant-based sandwiches to go with our desserts!
Kofta melt. It was sooooo good.
One of the many bad things about Covid is that there’s been such an uptick of people strolling through the cemeteries. We used to hardly ever run into other people there, especially in winter, but there were motherfuckers sled-riding there that day, for Christ’s sake. I was so indignant and enraged about this but I mean…we were there to eat sandwiches and buns so….I guess we’re just as motherfucker-y as the sledding motherfuckers.
I mean, if you think just because your kid is 14, you can stop screaming basic common sense things at him like DON’T STEP ON THE ICY POND, DIP SHIT, you would be sadly mistaken. We seriously screamed it 3x each until Henry was like, “Fuck him then.” Parenting! We’re great at it!
Then I took this dumb picture of us MOMENTS BEFORE CHOOCH CHUCKED AN ICE-ENCRUSTED AT MY FUCKING EYEBALL AND RUINED THE WHOLE FAMILY BONDING EFFORT. In his defense, he was trying to hit Henry (which would have been fine, lol) but he missed and woooo boy did that sucker sting. I think it hurt even worse because it caught me so off guard and maybe I had a lot of pent up stress and tears in me and it unleashed a wave of emotion and possibly bi-polar enhanced histrionics which, looking back on it now, even I can admit was over the top and uncalled for.
First I was really pissed and then I just started sobbing uncontrollably to the point where Henry was like “um, there there” and cautiously put his arm around me which Chooch was like “….” and the dead people were like “Oooh, action!”
“WHY DOES EVERYONE HATE ME SO MUCH?!” I screeched, scaring off any bird that hadn’t been chased away by the vocal power of my initial outburst.
I was stalking back to the car, sensing that Henry and Chooch were mouthing shit to each other behind my back LIKE THEY ALWAYS DO, when I suddenly felt inspired to hit the dumb kid so I turned around and slapped his arm but only ended up hurting my hand in the process and then we both started laughing and I screamed I HATE YOU while still laughing but also crying too and I noticed that there were two people who had been walking behind us for this whole shit show AND I DID NOT EVEN CARE.
Anyway, I was fine but I made sure to complain about my eye hurting all day even though it really didn’t.
And that’s the story about how sometimes you don’t need extended family to create drama on a holiday when you’re perfectly capable of stoking those flames yourself. The end. I’ll take a bow now.