With the holidays fast approaching, it's time for a Smax family dinner tutorial.

Rule #1: Choose the Kids' Table
If you get a chance to sit at the kids' table, take it. Take it quickly and don't look back. No card table is so wobbly, no play table so knee-scuffingly low, as to make it worse than the horrors awaiting you in the grownup section. If you do manage to end up at the kids' table, you may skip to Rule #4.

Rule #2: Mind the Seating Chart
If you're unfortunate enough to land at the adult table, significant strategy and planning is in order. Here are a few rules to remember:

Do NOT sit across the table from, or right next to, Grandpa D. The problem isn't that he smells like wet dog and leaves his old man hat on even when he eats. Or that he whines constantly about his diabetic dietary restrictions (though he always has a Snickers on the way over). No, the real gut clencher comes about two thirds of the way into the meal. Grandpa D will ask for extra gravy, pour it on his plate, and then mix everything together into a coagulated vomitous mass. Potatoes, peas, stuffing, corn, yams, jello salad, the odd cranberry � all vaguely brown and gelatinous. Soon there will be big chunks of it lodged in his white moustache and where his left eye tooth used to be. Beware.

Do NOT sit across the table from Barney. Barney is an old friend of Dad's who had polio as a child and who therefore walks funny and is less than five feet tall. I don't know what the polio had to do with his having been divorced three times, or not having a single other friend that will invite him over for dinner, but that's neither here nor there. What is both here and there is that Barney has no teeth. Not a one. And no dentures, either. Which means that eating is a fairly grotesque challenge. Sitting next to him isn't so bad, as you don't really have to look at him, and the spatter is infrequent. If you do sit next to Barney, remind him not to try any salad. He always chokes on unchewed lettuce.

Speaking of choking, do NOT sit across the table, or on the right side of, Lynn. Lynn is my sister. She's under the mistaken impression that it's sexy to talk in a soft whisper. Since no other portion of her is the least bit sexy, the whispering bit is just goddamned annoying. So people yell at her to speak the hell up. Then she shouts. When she shouts while she's swallowing, she chokes. And then follows a delightful display of red-faced, slack-lipped, spittle-spewing belly coughs. Truly lovely to behold. You were warned. Oh, and she wields her fork like a samurai blade � if you're sitting to her right, you'll have to keep ducking to avoid an elbow in the eye.

The ideal seating set up will have you on the same side of the table as these three, with at least one person in between. Remember that other Smax holiday meal veterans will be jockeying for that exact same seat.

Rule #3: Placate the Chef
Mom will complain incessantly from the moment you walk in the door about how hard she's worked in creating this meal, which will be scarfed down in less than 20 minutes. To that end, she will quote a host of old Erma Bombeck columns, somehow leaving out all the funny bits. Saying a million nice things will not make her happy. However, saying less than a million nice things will definitely increase the crabby quotient, and drastically lessen your chances of getting cool whip on your pie. Here are a couple of helpful phrases to remember:

Everything is delicious. Say it. Even if you get a bite of the most overdone/underdone/tasteless/fetid thing you've ever put in your mouth. It is part of the everything. And everything is delicious.

That's exactly the way I like it. Okay, so the marshmallows on top of the yams have been torched to a crispy obsidian. That's exactly the way I like it. Your first bite of turkey is so dry it sucks the sweat out of your navel. That's exactly the way I like it. There's a mysterious knobbly bit in the gravy. That's exactly the way I like it. It gets easier with practice.

Rule #4: Offer to help with the dishes
You may be thanked with a false smile and told to go watch the game. Or you may end up elbow deep in some nasty greasy shit. Either option beats the crap out of the behind-your-back evisceration you'll face for not having offered.

Rule #5: Choose the Pumpkin Pie
Double crust = danger. You don't want to know what lurks beneath the pastry. Especially if it came from Grandma Float's house. (Grandma Float is known for combining otherwise acceptable flavors into a Letitia Cropley morass of blecchhh.) Stick to the pumpkin if you value your tastebuds. It's always made with the recipe from the Libby's can, with only rare substitutions. Your safest dessert bet by far.

Rule #6: Participate in the Goodbye Conversation
Soon after chowing down, the guests will want to leave. Head to the door with them.Grandpa D will wonder aloud if he will go into a diabetic coma. (This may be his way of saying thank you. No one has ever actually heard him say thank you, so we can't be sure.) Barney will say, "Beautiful meal. Beautiful family. Such a beautiful family." and start to get uncomfortably emotional. Your job is to say something heartfelt yet humorous to 1)make Mom a little less pissed off about Grandpa D, 2) get Barney the hell out the door, and 3)drown out Lynn, who's still trying to be soft and sexy.

With these simple guides in mind, you just may enjoy your Smax family holiday meal.
(This is a true story. The names have been changed to protect the etiquette-challenged.)