Hello, My Name is Asshole

I have four family birthdays this month: my sisters, my dad, and my brother-in-law.

“It’s a celebration, bitches.”

Last night we had family dinner at the house to celebrate two of the four birthdays. My dad was chef for the evening (he really is quite a good cook) even though it was his birthday. I had the hard job of showing up, drinking their wine, and eating delicious crab dip, halibut cheeks, garlic spinach, and sweet potatoes…

And spilling a full glass of red wine on my mom’s relatively new living room rug.

Now, when you do something like that, you’re an immediate asshole. Because all you had to do was drink the damn glass of wine… and instead you spill it on the new carpet. And your dad ends up getting out the mini shop-vac to clean up your mess… on his day of birth.

No one made me feel like an asshole, everyone was fine with it. My dad said, “shit happens” and did a really good job of getting the stain out before it set in. But still… no matter what people say, you’re the asshole that couldn’t just drink the wine without causing problems.

Shortly after the wine mess gets cleaned up, I’m going for a loaded crab-dip crostini and nearly drop the spoon on the same carpet… flinging crab and the creamy white substance onto my shirt.

And while this isn’t the first time I’ve spent an evening covering in I-eat-aggressively-because-food-excites-me remnants, this just added insult to injury.

The only person not judging me was my brother-in-law… who I think is relieved that the I’m-a-walking-accident role in our family is filled… by yours truly.

And again, no one makes me feel bad about it… but there is a little silent judgment there. Or at least the wish that my family could tell me to go sit on my hands in the corner.

So we have a fabulous, delicious dinner, my mom lights the candles on the cake (the thin, squiggly ones), Erin and Dad blow them out and there the cake sits, in front of my dad, awaiting the first cut.

And what happens?

My dad knocks his full glass of wine onto the cake… covering the dark chocolate icing in Clos du Bois.

And in a not so silent victory, I shoot both of my fisted hands into the air over my head, close my eyes, throw my head back, and quietly say, “yesssssssss.”

Everyone laughs and I get to remove the “Hello My Name Is Asshole” nametag from my shirt.