Ring...Ring...My Normal Dealings On This Holiday.

Dear Ethers,

I hate Thanksgiving.  Yes.  I’m the original Scrooge of this holiday.  I’ve always been grateful to be out of the country whenever November rolls around.  Thrilled to make a quick phone call to my folks, say a half-hearted festive I love you, and then hang-up happy to be freezing in my flat eating Indian food while they munch on turkey.  

Though I do love pumpkin pie.

Why do I dislike this beloved Thursday?  I don’t like the food, (oh god, cranberry mold jiggling on the table next to the gravy with giblets—blechh). I’m not a fan of the forced family get together with relatives gathering asking me questions I DON’T want to answer and the false sense of gratefulness for what, exactly?  I mean, I tend to have more complaints than thanks (I know, I’m a jerk–but you guys know I’m a total pessimist).  Oh, and the hot breath of my dog on my thigh with his eyes bugging out of his head desperate for something, just SOMETHING, is SO pleasant whilst eating.  And he always chooses ME as his bosom buddy.

And I think cornucopia’s are ugly floral display’s, don’t you?

I’m sure you are all “cluck clucking” me about my terrible attitude, but I have to be honest.  

My Mom cooks for two days straight killing herself in the kitchen and dead at night from her toils.  She then becomes mean as hell to everyone around her.  Very festive.  My father, Mr. Perfect, panics if anything is out of place and I begin to worry he might keel over from stress about the few people arriving for dinner. Again, incredibly cheerful. My crazy Aunt S., who has chosen to humiliate me since I’ve been conscious, asks me out loud what bra size I’m sporting these days and then, without permission, lifts up my top and tries to look.  My brother, a total attitude problem at 31, just sits at the piano and is anti-social and rude.  Besides giving me a “noogie” and acting like he’s a frat brother from “Animal House,” there’s really not much else he contributes.  English gent might as well don tails and a bow-tie and put on a heavy Edwardian accent because he ends up being everyone’s bitch.  Need I go on?

Oh, and just this morning The Big Apple Beauty, in town for this “grand event,” took a rolling tumble down our steps.  We all thought she might be dead as she made no noise.  After lying crumpled on the floor for 30 seconds, she got up.  Her perfectly streaked hair looked like she stuck her finger in a socket. She winced and limped outside.  There she remains lying on a chaise lounge moaning with hideous scrapes on her arms.  I’m sure the bruising will start to show any time now.

I detest any meat on the bone and seeing a turkey carcass haunts me.  I hate dark meat and everyone in my family is selfish and takes all the white first.   And yes, my dad might, just might, put on Neil bloody Sedaka in the background.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone–especially to the poor Indians whose land we stole–thank you even more for giving us this holiday.  But hey, at least you guys are gonna have fun tonight at the casinos.  Whose having the last laugh now?

Anyone for roulette?  In my case, I wish it was Russian…….

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365