To my dear guests,
You are cordially invited to my totally awesome Christmas party. I promise you it will be epic: fire dancers, Cirque du Soleil, Michael Jackson rising out of the grave, with a 5-star Michelin buffet. The party I have in mind will be the stuff of rap videos. And I want all of you, people I consider my friends, to be there. We will have fun, sober or not.
I only have one condition: leave your baggage at the door.
I don’t mean your bags. I also mean the baggage you have inside you. Because my guest list includes your ex something, or the person you find annoying, maybe even your distant cousin from your Dad’s third family or something. They are not on my list to spite you. They are on my list because I find them fun. Look, there’s room enough for warring parties to do their high school thing and form cliques. Heck, just for that night, fake being nice. Ignore them even. But don’t ruin it for the rest of us by dragging your dislike and hatred through my front door.
I am your host. I am there to make sure you have fun. You are a guest at my party and it is your responsibility to have fun and stay clear of those who ruin it for you. Or hey, there’s the door.
I’ll be blunt: it’s not my problem if you had a one-night stand with so-and-so who happens to be there. It is not my problem if you don’t like whoever for whatever reason. So don’t make it my problem by picking a fight and putting out my fire dancers while toppling over my 5-star buffet. That’s when I get pissed. And I don’t want to be pissed on Christmas.
Remember the wise words of Marshall from How I met your mother, “It’s only awkward if you make it.”
So don’t make it awkward. Make it fun. Or you’re going to miss one hell of a party.
Sincerely,
Mii