Starring: The Turtle Fetus.

This past weekend’s trip to San Diego revolved around my sister’s wedding reception but also included gospel brunch at a drag bar and dinner with an ex-mafia friend of mine who looks/sounds like Gilbert Godfrey.

My family gatherings are colorful due to the fact that my dad’s side is inherently raunchy and uncouth while my stepmom’s side is catty, under the guise of "civilized" and "mid-western." My real mom was there as well because, hell, why not? Sister Courtney brought her new husband’s family into the mix. Their most definitive offering to the familial melting pot is that his dad and mom are also his grandpa and grandma. Long story. Obviously.

Anyway.

Courtney is pregnant. This means that there is yet another relative to make fun of: the fetus And so we did.

I found out earlier in the day that she was having a girl, so I called her husband to make fun of him:

“Ha! What good is Courtney? She can’t even produce a boy for you! Flush it!”

Courtney went around showing those little x-ray pictures of her baby at her reception. [What the hell are those things called again?]

I noted immediately that it looked like a turtle. She agreed, but contended that all fetuses look like turtles.

About an hour later, I heard her husband’s dad/grandpa saying, “Courtney, did you get too close to the sea turtles in Hawaii? That thing looks like a turtle.”

Ha!

When the champagne toast came, I sensed that Courtney was feigning for some booze (probably because she was saying, “Damn, I need a drink!”)

I reminded her that even though she couldn’t have a drink, her baby might want one. Here, my father gave me the look of death as Courtney poured the baby a couple ounces of champagne.

My dad decided not to talk to me anymore. It was because of this and because he was mad that I called out my other sister for not wearing a bra, thus exposing us to profound amounts of nippage. I mean, my Mormon grandparents were there. Speaking of them, grandma asked for a glass of orange juice. I got her a glass, which she noted was especially yummy. This is about the time when I heard my aunt screaming, “Do you know what’s in there?”

Rum punch. Probably the first sip of alcohol she ever had in her life. Clearly her mother was not as accommodating as Courtney.

Somewhere in the background, my mother was declaring to the masses that, “Boy, David is a good looking Jewish man. This is what a modern Jew looks like.” (She’s Jewish—of the Mormon variety, of course).

My uncle, not knowing that to call someone “Jewish” is not an insult, contended that “When I was young, all my friends were Jewish. I didn’t think anything of it. It was just normal.”

Oy vey.