It's Memorial Day and time to see the relatives.

Nothing like going to the holiday family get-together and listen as my relatives try to "subtly" find out if I'm dating anyone. They can't seem to accept the fact that I like being unmarried and living alone. Well, my mom accepts it; hell, she envies it.

My dad's family is large and unruly. Therefore, we don't go to my grandparents house to dine, we go there to eat. This subtle difference in semantics has turned my grandma's dining room table into the tryouts for the WWF. "Tough shit, grandpa," as I jam a fork into his outstretched hand that's making a play for the last dinner roll. From a young age, you learned to fill your plate to capacity and then some....there's no such thing as seconds.

Then, the talk turns to the relatives that deigned themselves "too good" to show up for the latest family soiree. For whatever similarities the day has to the Bataan Death March, you don't dare NOT show up for fear of what will be said about you in your absence. Your own parents won't take up for you, but instead will remind everyone present of the time you peed your pants long after the "potty-training years."

At 36, I'm still relegated to one of the "kiddie" tables. Because of the huge gap in ages of my grandparents children, I still have some very young cousins. Despite a horrific genetic history, my family members hang on to life with a vengence. I think it has a lot to do with not wanting to give up the seat at the "big" table. So, I'm bombarded with stories of how my cousins are sick of school by the fifth grade. Geez, at least I waited until high school to be tired of the whole process.

Well, at least the food, what little of it I could get, was good. And, being a "spinster," I'm not expected to cook ("maybe she can't cook and that's why she's not married"), so that makes it even better.