My family received a surprising number of gift exchange invites this year. I RSVP'd by lowering my spectacles and telling Bob Cratchit to fetch the coal scuttle.

At some point, I forgot how any of this works. The ongoing Triple COVID Mega Flus have mentally erased a preponderance of minor social customs. I already screwed up and told my stepkid to sign her Secret Santa gift — I thought at the event, they would... find out? Now there's a stern woman behind me ringing a bell and shouting "SHAME."

Next up, White Elephants? Yankee Swaps? Dirty Santas? Pollyanna somethings? All I know is, I bring a wrapped gift and we violently brain each other with pine-scented candles and spice blends from TJ Maxx.

This weekend looms large for parties. In all seriousness, these events serve the important function of forcing us out of our depressive bubbles and subverting the season's consumerism just a bit. Laughs! They're healthy!

I've done research to brush us all up on gift swap rules, so keep this handy as you scramble to buy a generic present for that ancillary acquaintance in your life.

SECRET SANTA

This ritual occurs in a social group such as a softball team, book club or family with 36 cousins. Although certain members may be friends, personal knowledge has no place in Secret Santa. Names are drawn at random; people are paired against their will.

Beth draws Robert, whom she has met three times. Robert has a cat, does something with "accounts" and once attended an Eagles concert. He chose "The Midnight Library" for book club, which Beth hated.

Beth now finds herself budgeting for &#%$*! Robert, in addition to family and friends. She cannot ask Robert what he might like, either, because this is SECRET. And secrets are FESTIVE.

Beth chooses a necktie with cats on it. She writes "ROBERT" in Sharpie on a crumpled, ancient gift bag. Robert unwraps the tie and cringes. He tries to guess the giver, an impossible task because no real friend would give him this tie.

Robert and Beth share an awkward laugh. Beth refills her gluhwein and examines her lavender hand lotion set from Alicia, who joined book club last week. Robert takes the tie home to lie in wait, until he is invited to...

WHITE ELEPHANT

Each guest must bring a wrapped gift. The limit is $25, but "limit" means "spend $30 or you will look cheap." The host says, "Be creative!" which, at this point in December, feels like pliers to the toenails.

Robert wraps the cat necktie.

Everyone draws a number, determining the gifting order. Veronica gets to choose first. She scans the pile for packages shaped like liquor bottles. She opens a cat necktie. Robert eyes her apologetically.

The guests unwrap a beach cover with an image of a sexy lady body, six bottles of bad grocery store wine, a $25 Visa gift card, a Squatty Potty and a baked potato from Stan, who thinks he's funny but actually has a lot of problems.

Patricia, the party host, is three chardonnays deep and decides to spice things up. Behold...

DIRTY SANTA

Since no one is happy with their gifts, it's time to channel the spirit of the season and engage in grand theft. As everyone gets drunker, the rules get proportionally more complex.

Patricia explains that everyone can, hic, pick a new gift from the pile or steal someone else's gift. Participants may steal once per round, ensuring this game will run until the return of daylight saving time.

Veronica waits for someone to steal the cat necktie, but the room is consumed by the Squatty Potty. Even Robert, distracted by quitting the book club via text message, wants the Squatty Potty. Order gone, chaos reigns. Paper numbers litter the ground. Patricia has somehow secured all six bottles of grocery store wine and gone to sleep.

Robert heads home with the Squatty Potty. Good for Robert, you know? Veronica leaves with the cat necktie. It will rest until next year, when an ominous holiday Evite appears from her hot yoga club. The whole ordeal starts anew, cat necktie living on ad infinitum, all powerful, forever.

Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on Twitter or @stephrhayes on Instagram.

Photo credit: ua_Bob_Dmyt_ua at Pixabay