Easter started with a tummy full of brave and a few text messages from my sister.

Saturday

“Sunday dinner?” (Aptly named Sunday dinner because we aren’t religious)

“Ms. Puddin isn’t home, how about me and Dr. B?”

No answer.

Sunday Morning

“When dnr?”

“3:00”

“so erly, be thr 3:30?”

“K”

Dr. B and I arrive. I’ve given him the family talk, I’ve warned him of the insanity and, I forced him to stop and buy a six pack of beer. Because, no one drinks at my sisters house and drinks are the only way for the sane to survive. Its 3:45 pm, I’m 15 minutes late. Dr. B and I walk in and the usual fluttering over dinner isn’t apparent. In fact dinner is on the table covered with pieces of aluminum foil. Next to the sparkling containers are two plates and two forks. My Brother-in-Law and son are carefully strewn on the couch clutching their stomachs. My sisters are in the kitchen doing dishes and my nephew is waddling from room to room babbling incoherently in his 15 month old voice. Probably talking about the luscious turkey he just ate.

“Hey, Where’s Dinner?”

“I told you dinner was at 3!” Very loudly from the kitchen without turning to look at me.”

“Umm, I said I would be here by 3:30.”

“Yeah, its 3:45”

I immediately grab the beers and begin prying off the tops with my teeth. Two for me, one for Dr. B. I gave him a look that says (if you even consider touching that food, I’ll kick you in the nuts just to make a point.) We sit, we hang on for dear life to our beers and we visit. The baby babbles until snot runs out of his nose and my sisters stay in the kitchen for what seems like an hour. I make the mini-introductions and we sit in relative silence while my Brother-In-Law talks about his new life since his son was born. Ahh the blessed child has created a born-again; but we stop short of praising the Lord.

More beer.

The sisters come out and sit on the couch, Dr. B and I are on our third drink and my sisters begin “The lets pick on Chantel” phase of the visit. I’m ribbed about my abhorrence to feet and my need to wash my hands after wiping snotty nephew nose. I love my nephew but I still hate snot. End of story. I’m ribbed because I’m forcing “MY” guest to sit without his dinner. Because we showed up late we’re gonna be punished and sit in the corner clutching plates together hoping that we finish before bed time and don’t have to go to bed on an empty stomach.

I start to wash my hands.

More beer.

I’m getting tipsy and I know Dr. B with no tolerance to alcohol is probably hammered by his second.

For no reason I hear exaggerated southern accents and recognize lines from Forrest Gump.

“Lewwwtenant DAnnnn, Asse-Creeeeam”

“Lewwwtenant DAnnnn”

“Jennnaay”

“Me and Jennay, weaz lak puuuhhhz and carrOTS.”

Its coming from everyone in the room. If my nephew could conjugate verbs he would probably join in on the quotes. If there was ever a time I wanted to die, it was now. In the midst of the chorus of quotes, I packed up the beer and Drunk Dr. B on an empty stomach and said my good-byes yet no one in the room skipped a syllable in their quote.

We we’re drunk and we we’re hungry the only restaurant open is Joes Crab Shack.

“Joes Crab Shack is close, you wanna try it?”

They have a bar and they have Crab. Dr. B ate crab while I cried into my margarita. Dr. B forgave me for my family. Dr. B is the first person in a long time to witness Chantel “emotional eating”. I actually almost finished something. I’m an obsessive eater of half. An obsessive hand washer. Obsessive cabinet closer. I guess you can’t really ever go home again.