Le Thanksgiving est Mort, Vive le Thanksgiving

Hail the conquering hero! I have accomplished a great deed, one that will echo down through the generations, be sung by bards and woven into tapestries.

I have saved my family from Thanksgiving.

Well, my maternal family, anyway.

Those who’ve known me know that Thanksgiving is my darkest day, the day I dread from the fourth Friday of November on, until the dreaded Turkey Festival returns, vengeful, to rain misery down upon us. Thanksgiving has been a curse, a prison from which my family was unable to escape. Nay, not unable. Unwilling. No matter how many times we swore that the next year would be different, that we shouldn’t cook a whole turkey (“Why don’t we just cook the turkey breast next year?”), that perhaps we’d forsake turkey entirely, we found ourselves repeating all the mistakes of years gone by. Thanksgiving was our personal Hotel California.

No more.

The truth is, I don’t see the Sipple side of my family nearly enough. This is entirely my fault, because I’m both lazy and a crappy person. Making plans to see people who live five minutes away is usually too much for me to handle. Both saying I’m going to drive two hours and actually doing it happens less often than a syzygy. It’s something that bothers me, and not just because the Sipple side of my family is where most the relatives my age with whom I actually have things in common can be found. My utter inability to be an adult and follow through with plans means I see them far too little.

Last year, as TurkeyDread crept in, I realized something I’m embarrassed never even occurred to me: why don’t I spend the holiday with the side of the family that doesn’t see it as a purifying gauntlet? Why don’t I do something I’d enjoy?

Thus, with great excitement, I made plans to drive to Erie and leave my mom’s family to deal with the turkey as they saw fit. Which is when it happened: without a warden to keep them locked in their cells and stuff them with bird meat they hated, there was no reason for them to suffer the holiday either. Instead of cooking, they decided to finally, mercifully, be sensible.

They made reservations at a restaurant where they could eat things they don’t despise.

And so it came to pass that the Pirolis were free of their most hated obligation, and I prepared to travel to lands far distant and see family I miss dearly.

Le Thanksgiving est mort, vive le Thanksgiving!

 

Like what you read? There’s more where that came from. Subscribe today and stay in the loop!

This entry was posted in Doing. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Le Thanksgiving est Mort, Vive le Thanksgiving

  1. Carole Mannino says:

    I hope you and Erin have a wonderful Thanksgiving!!! Enjoy the time with your family, life goes by too fast!

  2. Sharlene says:

    This was an entertaining piece of work and I know so many can relate to the same situations. I am so glad that you will be joining the other side for this Thanksgiving feast. It has been too long since we have been able to spend time together. And I know one person in particular is really looking forward to your visit this year. Thank you.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *