Or whatever hilarious misunderstanding is happening here, for example.
It's fine, because in the morning, everyone will have made up and learned lessons and grown and "Hey we're not so different you and I, Santa," but first, a flaming pot roast needs to be launched through a kitchen window, right in front of their shocked neighbors.
I'm not trying to brag, but all of my Christmases have been, at best, pleasant and, at worst, slightly awkward, and that only happened when I saw family members that I knew very little about and with whom I had no common ground. And I'm not some fancy, super well-adjusted guy. I am, on my best day, a nervous pile of farts in a sweater, (I said it was my best day).
Oops, can't talk with presents. Right. Up. To your. Face. There we go.
I'm sure some people have very strained relationships with their families, and when those families get together at a big holiday, perhaps a fight breaks out, and for that I'm sorry. But the bottom line is that, for most people, a big, family dinner on Christmas is just a few, low-key hours with people you sort of know and sort of get along with who aren't necessarily your friends, and then there's pie.