January 27, 2009
Would you show up to a family reunion as drunk and high on take-your-pick as you could possibly muster?
Yes. Without a doubt. If you knew my extended family…well, you’d understand. Being completely blotto is the way to go, as far as I’m concerned, and I’d do this dare for nothing (although I’ll take the cash, thank you very much). At this point I can hear some of you saying, “But what about the shame of appearing intoxicated in front of Great Aunt Bessie? How can you embarrass yourself like that? And what about your poor parents? Think of the humiliation!”
Whatever. I’d actually be willing to bet half of my newly-earned million that none of them (save for Mom and Dad) would even notice. A good number of them are clinically insane. Not kidding. They wouldn’t know what day it was if there wasn’t a brightly-colored calendar in the recreation room to tell them, so the odds of them noticing that I’ve had a few too many are low. As for the others, they’re so self-centered and overbearing (not to mention oblivious) that the only chance I stand of getting a word in edgewise is if I’m coked to the gills. And what of my “poor parents”? Honestly, I think they’d be envious. They don’t enjoy these types of get-togethers any more than I do.
I’d have to say yes to this because, fuck, it’s a million dollars. But it does actually cause me a little grief to think about it, because my family considers even the most minor infraction a huge deal and my mother is convinced that everyone is on drugs as it is. (I am not 1) kidding or 2) exaggerating. The number of times I have heard my mother whisper “I think he’s on drugs” – never a specific narcotic, mind you, just “drugs” in general – about someone who merely has a cold or talks with a lisp is so innumerable as to approach infinity. This from a woman who believed that acid came in pill form, until I corrected her – which, of course, made her suspicious that I was on drugs. No comment on the veracity of that suspicion.) Basically, showing up to a family event messed up would for years afterward give my family members license to gossip and talk amongst themselves – with a lot of faux concern and smug self-righteousness – about just where it was that my life had gone so terribly wrong. So, to cut to the chase, I’d say yes. But, dammit, I’d almost hate to give them the satisfaction.