My sister called again. She wants to know if I’m going to make the 3-hour drive to be with her on Thanksgiving. I know it sounds pleasant on the surface, but my brother-in-law’s family will be there, and let’s just say that spending time with those drumstick-eating jocks isn’t fun for me. I don’t like being the object of ridicule. They call me a “band fag” even thought I didn’t make it on my high school band. When I tell them this yet again, they just laugh and look at each other and laugh some more. Hey you, want another wine cooler? Yuk yuk yuk. If I happen to like wine coolers more than Miller Lite, does that mean I’m a lesser person? And even if his family weren’t coming, there’s the whole underlying issue of Sheila pumping herself up by feeling sorry for me. If I had my own family, I would dearly love to not invite Sheila over for Thanksgiving. I would call and say something like, “Hey Sheila, I know that deep down, you’re a lonely person, and I’d like to take this opportunity to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving from a distance. I’ll be spending the day with people who don’t pity me and who don’t think they’re superior to me just because they have bratty children and a dwimmerlaik husband.”

No, I wouldn’t really say that. But sometimes I’d really like to.

Isolation score: 8