Thanksgiving, yet another opportunity to celebrate a holiday in the shadow of dysfunction.
If holidays are not your most joyful time, don’t feel alone. You have plenty of good company.
If you’re all alone behind closed doors, getting by on contraband prescription drugs and booze just like ma and pa used to, you’re in good company. It’s not that people won’t admit it, it’s just that they don’t remember in the morning.
Having hosted a wonderful get-together with friends yesterday, I have the remainder of the weekend to my glorious self, and the myriad of closed cafes which otherwise occupy my solitary, hermit-like lifestyle.
Oh, don’t give me that bullshit darling, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Loosen your pretty little peter-pan collar my dumpling, and belly up to a true tale of what a lot of folks suffer through every time Hallmark rings their celebratory bells.
Don’t worry my delicate little forget-me-nots, I will, eventually move on to a list of things that I am thankful for. After all, gratitude is highly prized by the LuluLemon set, and being ungrateful is just so very out of vogue and (gasp) ugly.
So let’s get on with this ugliness, shall we?
The first thing I’m not thankful for is my gimpy left index finger which I almost cut off in my rushed attempt to get thanksgiving dinner on the table after a 65 hour work week.
Yah, not thankful for that, seeing as writing is my great passion and it’s causing me to make all kinds of typos, which, for the purpose of authenticity, I’m tempted not to correct for the remainder of this post so you might experience my typing-gimp pain right along with me.
The second thing I’m not thankful for is surviving a childhood of learned poor coping and communication skills without even a smidgen of a psychiatric diagnosis, therefore having to continually draw on my own human reserves to get through every, stinking lonely night sans any type of ‘____onazepam’.
The third thing I’m not thankful for is the shitty selection of movies on Sunday night television. Seriously Women’s Network, Sunday nights suck just as much as Friday and Saturday for single, middle-aged women. Don’t give me this how to decorate your home garbage. I want shirtless hunks wooing Sandra Bullock.
The fourth thing I’m not thankful for are invitations to dinner that come so very late that you know the host/hostess is banking on you not showing up, but having the politically correct right to say that they did invite you. Really? Don’t bother. Go choke on your butterball.
The fifth thing I’m not thankful for is having big boobs. That’s right, they get in the way, and manage to catch every single drip of contraband chocolate or ewey-goey goodness that you try to sneak. There’s nothing like having extra large ta-ta’s that scream, “I have food issues”.
Ok, that’s enough negativity. Let me move along to a list of the top ten things that I am thankful for during this glorious holiday;
1) Fat pants. Yes, elastic waste bands, and hell, why not, I’m gonna give a shout out to my non-underwire bra too. Thanks for sticking by me when everyone else is gone.
2) Fake Bailey’s Irish Cream. Oh yah, comfort booze that’s affordable. They should just call it, O’Maybe’s….I’ll just drink the whole damn bottle.
3) That one relative who ‘gets me’. You know, the only other sane-insane person you’re related to by consangquinity who doesn’t think you’re a raging, ignorant twat.
4) Honestly, I can’t come up with number four. Or five, six, seven, eight, nine or ten for that matter.
Frankly if you don’t like it, you can sod off like the rest of the world.