Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Let's Give Thanks



       During the Thanksgiving holiday let's all get down on our knees and give thanks that we only have to see our relatives at one Thanksgiving dinner a year. I feel this is a good time for a little self-evaluation so I'll start with me.  .

                There I will sit, squeezed into a tiny chair at the little table, an exile among my cousins and other poster children for dysfunction.  Along with my fellow outcasts, I will watch with dismay as the twins, Wanda and Sookie, stuff peas up their noses.  Never mind they learned the trick from me.  And never mind they are forty-five and have done a lot more unconventional things with legumes.  I have the photos to prove it but, that’s not the point. 
                 From the moment I walk in, Aunt Priscilla and Uncle Puget will treat me like the same little boy who used to fashion balloon animals from his umbilical cord.  The fact that my mother (their sister) saved the cord gives you a taste of what I’ve been up against all these years.  My aunt and uncle have no clue as to what is normal but they’re pretty sure I’m not it.  That’s rich coming from those two seeing as how my mom is sister to both of them.
                 I have decided it is high time I stood up to Aunt Priscilla and told her I expect to be treated like an adult.  I will make it known that I am tired of having to eat with a plastic spork and being trusted with nothing sharper than a banana.  I will be assertive and she will respect me for acting like a man.  Later, I will be sure to ask nicely when I need her to cut up my turkey meat.
                 As for Uncle Puget, I may never win him over.  How can I expect a 73-year-old with a plate in his head to understand what a kind and sensitive person I am?  He thinks kindness is when he finishes in the bathroom without using all the toilet paper.  Engaging in conversation with him is a constant frustration, mostly because he keeps his hearing aid turned off.  Besides, the only issue he will talk about is how French women have ruined the world with their hairy, smelly armpits. 
            But that’s who Uncle Puget is and he’s proud of it.  So I have made a decision to be proud of what I am and who I am.  From now on I will be myself and not worry about it. Unfortunately, I am forever linked to this group of derailed lunatics who think it's acceptable to drink straight from the gravy boat.

                        



      
                                                                                                                                                                      

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