I don’t like Thanksgiving.
I don’t like turkey and dressing. I don’t like sweet potatoes. I don’t like potatoes of any kind unless they are french fried. I don’t like pecan pie.
I think its silly to slave all day over one meal. I think its silly to have that many dirty dishes.
We should have Chinese takeout on Chinette instead.
Or surf and turf.
Leave the poor turkeys alone. It is bad enough that they got the ugly end of the creation stick.
Most of the time on Thanksgiving I end up having a meal of pickles, black olives, cranberry sauce (the kind that comes out of the can looking just like the can) and rolls.
When I was about five or six years old, one Thanksgiving dinner turned out to be a lot worse than the others. In fact, it was so bad, I still remember it. In fact, it was so bad it is brought up at the dinner table every Thanksgiving.
I thought I would be really cute. Six year old girls are very cute, especially when they have long curly pigtails, and I did. I crawled under the table and pretended to be a dog begging for food.
Hey, rolls and black olives do not fill up a tummy. I wanted another roll.
I went over to my Aunt Mo. She would give me a roll. I just knew it.Aunt Mo reached under the table and put some food in my mouth.
It was not a roll.
I do not like green beans. This was not a secret. Everyone knew I didn’t like green beans. Aunt Mo knew I didn’t like green beans.
It isn’t funny.
My family thinks it is hilarious.
It is 27 years later and I still don’t think it is funny. I still don’t like green beans. I still don’t like turkey and dressing. I still think we should be thankful everyday and we don’t need to celebrate a meal in which the pilgrims forced their way into the lives of Native Americans which led to an outbreak in the entire Native American population of syphilis.
And a sneaky green bean.
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