A Thanksgiving Blessing From An Ingrate

Thanksgiving.  The holiday when we break bread with loved ones and give thanks for all of our good fortunes.  The first and last time I hosted Thanksgiving dinner was particularly memorable.  Not because of the meal or the company, because I was an ingrate.

My family flew to Arizona from the midwest for a little sunshine and to experience Thanksgiving in the desert.  Like a professional, I timed the preparation of the feast to the second.  The table was set overlooking the beautiful mountains, the side dishes were perfectly cooked and my father was carving the golden brown turkey.  Or rather, meticulously performing surgery on every nook and cranny of the legs and thighs.  It seemed like hours passed and he was still carving.  The guests were waiting, the side dishes were luke warm and I was hormonal.  My frustration escalated and suddenly I screamed at my father, “Quit fucking around with the dark meat and get to the good stuff!”  He paused the surgery on his patient, Tom Turkey and looked up at me in disbelief.  Then he said, “O.K.”  Turns out the Martha Stewart anti-Christ reared her ugly head because I was pregnant.  Who knew?  To this day, I’m still banned from hosting Thanksgiving dinner.

In an effort to shed my reputation as an ingrate, I’ve been doing some soul-searching and came up with some reasons to be grateful.

  • I’m grateful for baggy jeans.  My mother and fellow Weight Watcher’s Wingmate and I are still on the Weight Watchers program and have lost some major tonnage.  We just received our “SAS” charm for attending 16 weeks in a row.  I’m thinking the acronym “SAS” really means “ASS” just as a reminder of why we are attending meetings.  I never imagined it would feel so good to say, “Thank you” when someone says, “Hey, looks like you have a load on in your jeans.”  
  • I’m grateful for the hand-me-downs The Last Pancake recently gave me.  She said, “Hey, Skinny Bitch, I cleaned out my closet for you.”  I heard, “Your ass is smaller but you’re still a fashion disaster.”  While I appreciate the thought, the clothing sizes are still the square root of my current size.  I may take her up on the offer to have my limbs stretched at one of her Pilates classes.  It may be my only hope of cramming into the powder blue Tommy Bahama pullover.  I’m also wondering why she put the clothes in a brown paper bag intended for a food drive.  Apparently, I’m her Thanksgiving charity this year.
  • I’m grateful to be a volunteer in my daughter’s first grade class.  I’m also grateful the paper turkeys I was asked to create from scratch did not look like phallic symbols.  I broke out into a sweat reshaping the heads when they resembled more of a cock than a turkey.  I’m also thankful I didn’t open up a can of whoop ass after a classmate called me “huge” when we were playing with relational cubes or after another classmate made fun of my driver’s license picture on my name tag.
  • I’m grateful to have work.  That is, I’m supposed to be doing some contract work that I never seem to find the time to complete.  For some reason, cleaning toilets or screwing around on Facebook sounds more fun than working. 
  • I’m grateful to have a husband that likes to clean, especially after I get a manicure.
  • Of course, I’m grateful for my family, friends and good health.  Even though the weather has changed and I’ll likely have a sinus infection until April.  I’m also thankful I don’t look like Harvey Fierstein even though I sound like him with my cold.
  • I’m grateful football season is almost over.  I may be placed into the “Bovine” category of species after ingesting pounds of spicy beef this tailgating season.  The Boilers and the Sun Devils need to be put out of their misery and I need some DIY projects completed around the house.
  • Last but not least, I’m grateful to have a blog.  Though my friends and family are distancing themselves because they are afraid of becoming blog fodder.  I’m also thankful for the handful of people who are willing to read it.

My Thanksgiving blessing may not make it to the table, but it’s a start.  So, from The Laughing Ingrate, Happy Thanksgiving!


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