If it's the thought that counts...
My in-laws never actually come to visit us, but they do send gifts ... sort of. Last Christmas they sent my husband a horribly tacky Western shirt, which I can only assume is because we live in Texas and they think the entire state is a big line-dance hootenanny. They also sent our toddler twins a toy from a McDonald's Happy Meal, which I recognized because it was still in the package that read "Happy Meal." As for me, I have a cat, and I think they assume that I love cats, since they gave me a sweater covered in cats, 3-D balls of yarn, and bells. Just my style!
Turkey and a side of salmonella
The first time I spent Christmas with my husband's family, I offered to help cook dinner with my mother-in-law. The two of us were in charge of preparing the turkey, and it didn't take long for me to want to revoke my offer. She was basically throwing the bird around the kitchen, setting it on counters and dripping raw turkey juice down the counters and cabinets. Then she took a stick of butter and started pressing it under the skin and rubbing the whole bird down with it. Once she was done, she licked her fingers (yes, raw turkey–butter fingers) and put the rest of the stick of butter back in the fridge to use at dinner. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and ran up and told my husband that we would not be eating anything but premade, store-bought items.
Merry and slighted
For my husband's and my first Christmas as a married couple, I really wanted to find the perfect present for his mother, in hopes of winning her over so she'd at least be cordial to me. I found a gorgeous cashmere sweater from her favorite designer, and even though it was wildly expensive, I was willing to skimp elsewhere to get it for her.
When time came to exchange gifts, my husband kept telling her how I'd chosen these gifts for her, and she acted like we'd given her a bag of old socks. My husband opened his presents next. He had 20 boxes. I had three. She got me an ugly fur scarf and an awful mustard yellow zip-up cashmere cardigan in a size extra small (in no world am I an extra small). The final gift? A box of all her broken Christmas ornaments. She said she thought I could fix and use them next year.
BYOB: Bring your own bed
One year, a couple of weeks before Christmas, my husband and I needed to stay at his dad and stepmother's house because we had houseguests and there were more guests than beds. When Christmas rolled around they gave us a blow-up bed. The message was clear! My husband was so offended that he threw it in the trash on the way home.
A very paranoid Christmas
A few years ago my grandfather decided to have elective surgery just a couple of days before Christmas. (His doctor actually encouraged him to wait, but he's always been a bit of a hypochondriac.) On Christmas Eve, the entire house full of family was awakened by his mutterings. Apparently he was worried that something had gone wrong (it hadn't) and that he needed to be rushed to the hospital (he didn't). When we all tried to assure him, he was fine, he started yelling about how we all just want him to die so we can have his money. Needless to say, the rest of Christmas Eve was spent in the hospital waiting room. And, as it turns out, he was fine.
Scrooged
Last Christmas my in-laws decided that with the addition of four new kids in the family (both my sister-in-law and I had twins in recent years) that it was going to be tricky to handle the increased gift-giving load. I assumed that meant we would do secret Santa so each person would buy one adult gift and one kids' gift. I got it backwards—the decision was made to only buy gifts for each other and not get presents for the kids. It was a pretty bizarre scene, all the grown-ups sitting around the tree opening gifts while the kids watched. Luckily, a few broke the rules but this year I'm revolting. Only gifts for kids!
