I Am The Christmas Roast Holding This Family Together

If you thought tradition and seasonal joy could keep your family together; you are utterly incorrect.It is I, Christmas Roast, that causes this home to fill with step cousins and your grandma’s new boyfriend. From every corner of the tri-state area, your family flocks together for me.

Imagine how amazing I will taste in just thirty minutes.

Is it thirty minutes because your mother said I was almost done forty-five minutes ago and your stomach is howling. She never seems to get the times right. Does she? Remember that time she missed your jiu jitsu belt ceremony? Don’t think of that. Think of me.

Aunt Helen’s mouth is full of my delectable meat that her annual racist tirade might be pushed back to New Year’s Eve. She takes a sip of Merlot and mentions immigration before biting into me and forgetting her inane point. Congratulations, your new boyfriend isn’t afraid of your family. May you savor this harmonious moment, no matter how brief.

Ah, cousin Peter, devours two servings of me before passing out in the garage. Full of my succulent meat he can’t continue eating anymore and he inches towards fatal heart disease. How lucky you are because he would have asked you for four hundred dollars for his “incredible business opportunity” for the fifth year in the row. You’re quite welcome.

Your father inhales three servings of me and starts to choke just as he inquires why you haven’t received an undergraduate degree in six years. You almost mumbled “dropping out” before your mother had to give him the heimlich maneuver. Your father has forgotten what he was talking about and your charade as a promising student and dutiful daughter continues. For now.

Remember, it was I who brought you together and it is I who will tear you all apart. We grow closer to the end of dinner and you eye your Aunt Rita. Will she take the last cut of roast? She always looks out for herself and never sent you a birthday card. Or perhaps, your brother Cody will take me? As a growing boy and the only child your parents planned to have; he always feels entitled to the last cut of meat doesn’t he?

Enjoy the rest of your Christmas motherfuckers.

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