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By Hillary Ibarra

We spent Christmas with my in-laws, and nobody got into a nasty fight about global warming or accused anyone of being a "bloody conservative" or "bleeding-heart liberal."

No one sobbed while sharing about the worst moment in their lives, or gave a spouse a dirty stare because they were left out of the best. (Both were topics Dad once suggested so his son-in-laws could get to know the family better).

And absolutely no one pounded the table while guffawing during Christmas dinner because someone was relating an inappropriate, but hilarious, story of personal misfortune.

I was out of my element, surrounded by strange, polite people.

When my side of the family gets together, we believe the only topics worth discussing are those that can cause violent emotional outbursts, such as religion, politics and anything deeply personal or embarrassing. To us there is no inopportune time or place for a spirited discussion.

When my sister Annie came into town for a weekend before Christmas, we hadn't seen each other for over a year. We caught up by quarreling for two hours about fast food workers' pay, what kind of comments Jesus would like on Facebook, and the best route to take on several global crises. We kept my oldest son awake, initiating him into a time-honored family tradition.

While Annie and I faced off from separate ends of the couch, my husband fell into a chronic stupor induced by overdosing on the fumes of other people's emotions. I tried to bait him repeatedly, demanding to know if he had any opinions, but he curled up with a blankie in his recliner and played dead.

Eventually he retreated to bed and missed out on the best part, because my family laughs as hard as we debate. Harder, actually — especially if there's booze around.

While downing a bottle of Muscadine wine, Annie and I made up by poking fun at ourselves.

Annie said that if anger is like a cream pie, our family is constantly throwing it in each other's faces — "Here! You eat this pie, Sucker!" And we even enjoy usurping other people's emotional pies and smearing them all over our own faces — "It's not my business? It's not my business?! Well, ha! I make it my business!"

A very generous family, we like to share our business. And your business. And the whole world's business. My husband's family? Not so much. They don't even like to share when they're taking a trip or having major surgery.

Given my family's dynamics, I suppose it's better for all concerned that my husband comes from a quieter, more reserved line of folks. Come to think of it, none of my siblings married stump-pounding, brow-beating, laugh-until-they-can't-breathe kindred spirits, either. Generally, our significant others just stare at our antics and listen to our outrageous speech in dignified silence, stunned by our lack of tact and political correctness.

Our spouses — Lord bless 'em! — are calm, peace-loving people. They may not laugh as often or loud as we do, but they also don't shove fluffy pies of fury in our faces on a regular basis. As Annie and I merrily pointed out, they digest their own anger pies just to keep the peace: Tamp it down! Tamp it down!

But if we bait them too many times, and those bad boys come back up?

*Shudder* Scary!

— Hillary Ibarra

Hillary Ibarra has had several humor pieces published on Aiming Low and the Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop blog and was recently published at Hahas for Hoohas. She is a mother of four who dreams of playing the banjo, living in Jane Austen's childhood home and writing for more than spam artists and 50 loyal readers but can't seem to find them in the laundry. She is the mysterious blogger at No Pens, Pencils, Knives or Scissors. In her spare time she likes to threaten to sell her children to the zoo, and their little dog, too.