With Chrismukkah right around the corner, bank accounts everywhere are shrinking to new lows and overdraft fees are running rampant. Luckily for me, I experience this financial strain more than once a year, so the stress of having no money has evaded me. You can’t miss something that’s not there.

Most people freak out about buying the perfect present, but not me. Oh no. If there’s anything I am good at, it’s spending money on things. The stress of getting presents, however, is a deep-seeded fear I have yet to come to terms with. Even worse, getting gifts from the significant other’s family and what comes along with them.

Last year, the person I am currently dating invited me home for some post-holiday cheer, where the brother’s girlfriend gave me a Christmas gift. The tag was addressed to me, “from brother ‘ brother’s girlfriend, Merry Christmas.” It was a scarf.

Now, I’ve been in long-term, serious-at-the-time relationships. And I know, from various sources, the difference between dating a person and dating their entire family.

I don’t mean dating the whole family in the West Virginia sense. I mean on top of trying to develop a relationship with the person you’re dating, developing a relationship with that person’s family. This can be venom to a perfectly happy relationship, making the joyful task of breaking up even more obnoxious.

The last person I dated had an older (filthy rich) sister. She would buy me clothes and CDs, take us out to bling dinners, make me personalized cards and e-mail me all the time.

As a young tot right out of high school, I thought this was amazing. I was growing closer to the sister of the person I was going to marry. Perfect little relationship. Future Mama-In-Law cut my hair because she owned a salon and every time I visited she would make me all my favorite foods. Oh, how nice it was to be loved by my future family at the young age of 19.

Then I broke up with that person to have sex with other people.

Not only did I have to break up with the person, No Longer Future Mama-In-Law cried, carried on and left me voicemails asking us to “work it out.” Rich Sister was insulted. There were no happy e-mails after that, just a sense of betrayal.

Conveniently, I am petrified of New Person’s mother. She doesn’t like me because I stole the innocence and virginity of her child and she has called me out on it. We’ve slept in the same bed in her house and she has e-mailed New Person saying “No Way Jose, no sex in my house” … even if the headboard on the guest bed is a giant mirror.

I have hung out with Brother twice. We have said maybe eight words to each other. I had met his girlfriend once. Once. That time I suffered through this twisted picture-taking brigade which I can only equate to prom. Brother and Girlfriend had that “We’ve been together since high school so we have our own pose and people think we look sweet” thing down. New Person looked like a pirate and I looked just plain scared.

This year, Brother’s girlfriend went to Thanksgiving with his family. She knows the entire family, even the 47 cousins. She talked about marrying Brother.

Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll be over here getting drunk with my friends. (Hey, I’ve been heinously legal for way too long.)

Scary Mom and I have made a concerted effort to keep my ass out of family affairs, but the scarf was like the hook trying to drag me in.

I know what Girlfriend’s thinking, too. That she’s making me a part of the family. She’s already doing her wifely duty by taking care of the woman business of Christmas shopping for her man.

Like they are already married.

Like we are already married.

Mmm … I’m still over here, drinking with my friends. (Legally.)

Don’t get me wrong. I love New Person. Maybe we’ll get married. But until there is an expensive ring and guest lists and open bars to worry about, I’m going to hold off on the winter accessory giving.

I’ll stick to my own dysfunctional family. At least they know you tolerate your own until the law absolutely requires you to accept someone else. Even then, the law can’t change the fact my Grandma still thinks my Dad is “too good” for my Mom. But at least with them, I have no choice. I was born into it.

And all my scarves from them come with receipts.

– Contributed by a member of The News staff.