It is an interesting experience to be led into a house filled with dozens upon dozens of complete strangers and have it gently explained to you that all of them, no matter that you don't know them, are all members of your family. I went through this not long ago. My mother having eight siblings and my father nine, quite a few of them with spouses (should the plural of "spouse" be "spice"? I think so) and children, keeping track of simply my immediate family has always been a challenge. But these great-aunts and great-uncles and second and third and fourth cousins and so-many-times-removed cousins really had me confused. Having huge, old, friendly people squeal, "come here, baby," and embrace me when I didn't know who they were and thought they smelled slightly funny was a bit frightening. To make things worse (for me), I was informed that I could not bring a book and I could not be anti-social. I ended up sitting with my mum and my favorite aunt, and a cool, crazy great-aunt who told funny stories about how she was terrified of moving to Florida to retire because of the fire ants and alligators (apparently, one of my other cousins lives near Miami and was telling horror stories). It was pretty fun, once they stopped hugging me and simply handed me fresh sodas whenever mine went dry. They also fed me hot water corn bread (quite a bit of my mum's side of the family originates in the South). They were about the size and shape of my thumb, golden and crunchy on the outside and soft and white on the inside. They tasted a bit like Fritos. It got even better when my cousins and aunts decided to play double dutch. If you've never seen a lithe young woman in skin-tight jeans and pencil-thin high heels attempt this, you're missing a show. Poor girl fell on her butt about six times before she decided the killer heels were working against her.

If only they would stop talking to me about my @#&$! future, I would be the happiest frog in the pond.