6. Do voodoo magic and cause disastrous weather of biblical proportions.
With family arrivals on my horizon, I could use some helping voodoo-magicking up some locust swarms. Then no one can come and visit me, and I can sit in my house like the bleedin’ Queen in three-day old sweatpants and perfectly greasy hair, eating my sixth Costco-sized tub portion-sized bowl of peppermint ice cream. With a side of potato chips.
7. Break a necessary body part.
Tricare’s pretty terrific about covering ER visits (I may or may not know that personally), and tragically breaking a completely needed appendage (leg? foot? arm? full body?) would garner a highly satisfactory percentage of sympathy from previously unhelpful guests. As in, “Of course I’ll make the entirety of Christmas dinner. You just sit and rest, poor thing.” Oh, I guess I will, you think maniacally as you turn on trashy television reruns. If you think it’s best.
8. Change religions.
Meaning: I’m a proponent of anything that promotes, uh, fewer things to do. (Read: I’m pretty lazy.) Less holidays to celebrate = more Netflix time watching Stranger Things.
9. Leave in the dead of night.
Gas up them wheels and get the bleep out of dodge. However, lest the police come to investigate your mysterious disappearance and find you shacked up in a Hawaiian resort town sipping a cool Piña colada, make sure you leave a note explaining where you’ll be and why the credit card bill will be so high and that you’ll see your favorite family again mid-January.
10. Disown your family.
This is probably a last-resort kind of method (not to be confused with the Hawaiian resort as noted in tip #9), but for some of us, it’s not so far-fetched. Mom, if you’re reading this, simmer down. It’s definitely probably not going to be you.
So, relax. With these must-have tips, you’ll breeze through these harried, crazed months, and before you know it, you’ll have to do it all over again.
Crap.
Maybe I’ll see you on that plane to Hawaii.
