NinjaChick’s rant here inspired me to start a new thread as we countdown to America’s annual celebration of gluttony, overeating, and setting fire to the patio with the deep fryer.
Dear SIL: showing up at 4:00, then leaving that night to your preferred location REALLY makes me want to spend more time with you and your brood over the Christmas break. Do what you want, but if you make one comment over Christmas about how short our visit is, I will throw your timing in your face. I will do this so that your sister does not have to.
Dear FIL: Please leave the latest “The Jews are responsible for all ills of the world” books at home this time. Son of Algher does not need your help for his high school history lessons.
Dear Self: Pace yourself. You are getting up at 6:00 AM to continue to cook for 25. If you start drinking too early, then you will be hungover for dinner.
Please tell me when one of our employees dies. All I got was the paperwork saying the employee had terminated. Imagine how much of a callous dumbass I looked like when I emailed for clarification, trying to find out if this person was rehireable.
To everyone who will eventually ask me the question: no, we’re not cooking a turkey. Mr. brown hates turkey and I’m very meh about it myself. We’re going to have a nice rack of lamb. And don’t look at me like I’m some kind of commie.
That’s the great thing about it. It’s a holiday basically centered around food, but apparently, “I don’t like this particular food” is not an acceptable reason to do deviate even slightly.
Part of why I finally gave up on the holiday was a conversation that went something like this:
“NinjaChick, you’ll eat turkey on Thanksgiving, right?”
“Er, no. Still a vegetarian. Also, never really been a big fan of turkey.”
“But it’s Thanksgiving!”
“Yes, it is. That does not change the fact that I don’t eat turkey.”
“How can you celebrate Thanksgiving without eating at least some turkey?”
“…By spending time with my family and reflecting upon the things that I’m thankful for in life?”
“But but but turkey!”
Apparently your choices are either observe this holiday by stuffing a huge amount of a certain type of bird down your gullet, or be labelled as a miserable heathen deviant. Whether or not you like said bird is irrelevant.
God, I hate those leggy little melonfarmers. At least this one had the good manners to stroll out right in front of me, so I could easily bash him to death. (He was coming RIGHT AT ME!)
To my dog -
The blowing leaf is not wanting to play with you. It is not running away. It is dead. The wind is blowing it.
No need to chase it! It doesn’t care!
And why the hell do you have to eat the damn thing?!
Even animals that EAT leaves won’t eat a dead leaf!
And another thing. Showing how happy you are to see somebody by pissing all over their shoes is never a good idea.
Dear brother-in-law: Thanks for the heads-up on not attending Thanksgiving due to your upcoming medical procedure only a day or so before. I’m sorry to hear, obliquely and indirectly, about whatever Male Problem it is that requires the removal of a testicle, and sincerely hope it is not too serious after surgery/biopsy/whatever.
However, I wish you’d elaborated on whether or not you’d told the rest of the family, or intended to. You know that our father-in-law will flip the fuck out if you dare not attend the holiday gatherings, without a damned good excuse - and even then, he still may. I’m also not going to be the one to tell people about this, either, since your balls really aren’t my business.
Dear Son: Please get your shit together at school. Neither of us wants to spend the time off finishing up projects, homework, papers etc. that you have been putting off. I don’t want to be standing over you, and you don’t want it either.
Dear FIL, your wife is very likely dying, could you please at least pretend every once in a while that you give a shit? Could you please not throw a child-like fit because she wants to stay an extra day at Thanksgiving, which could very well be her last, and you will not be able to watch the big game with the team you played on 40 years ago? I know it may cause you to have to delay your next fly rod, canoe, or useless knife purchase, but is it really too much to ask for you to get the garage door fixed so she does not have to exacerbate her hernia any more? It would be great if you could do some sort of 180 by next week, because I don’t know how your daughter and I will be able to look you in the eye.
Dear entire Internet: Please learn the difference between the words “reign” and “rein.” You all have been using the phrase “reign in” when your context indicates you desire something to be brought under control, as opposed to brought under sovereignty.
You know, I hate to reign on your parade, but I’m part of the “entire Internet,” and I don’t want to rain in my use of those words! What, you think you rein over me?! Who died and made your Emperor of the Internet?!
I understand that my failing eyesight is not your problem, and maybe I’ll someday have to swallow my pride and bring a little flashlight out to eat with me. I know it’s not your problem that I don’t have the night vision of a cat anymore.
But seriously – must you dim the lights to romance level the very second I open the menu?
Please stop asking me if I color my hair. I’ve told you many times that I don’t, but even if I did, what business is it of yours? Quit trying to get me to “confess.” If I colored my hair and didn’t want you to know it, isn’t that my business? Knock it off.
right back at ya.