--- In [email protected], Eleanor Keyser <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote: > > > You all should know that I loathe Thanksgiving more than I loathe all of the other loathsome days of my life combined. Every single one is like having Martha Stewart, on crack, use my skin as the surface of her latest needlepoint sampler. And now I cannot even drown my sorrows in fried Cajun Turkey. I fucking hate you Eatzi's. I really, really do.
Holy crap. That's awful, Ellie. > > PS. I have a feeling this Thanksgiving may be the worst one since the first post-divorce nuclear melt down, which played a little something like this: Act I: Five hour car ride from Mom's to Dad's. Act II: Dad throws frozen turkey into the street at Mom, who burns rubber back to her lonely singleton Thanksgiving. The turkey skids into the gutter where it sits moldering for days. (I never did find out how long it sat there.) Act III: Thanksgiving at the local Jack in the Box--but not in the warm, posh inside of the "restaurant," oh no. It was drive-through for us. They get awfully snobby about grown men crying and chain smoking inside of those places. Bloody righteous prats. > > Oh, by the way, the second worst Thanksgiving involved Tofurkey, and that's all you need to know about that one. > We're going out of town to Lisa's parents' house for T-day, so if you decide you want to avoid all human contact instead, feel free to come to our house, turn off all the lights, and hide under the bed. If not, here are some hugs to help you get through.
