Thanksgiving and other oddities….
Thanksgiving is a pretty nice holiday as far as holidays go. No gifts, no “season”. It’s one day with a lot of good food, if you are lucky. And minimal drama. Again, if you are lucky.
Most Thanksgivings all my life have been family affairs, pretty much the same thing year after year. The usual suspects.
Throughout my childhood, there were never many new players. My mother’s brothers and sisters, their spouses and their children.
As us kids started to grow up, some married and brought in new players. Some good, some bad, some meh. Still, pretty much the same scenario. Ham, turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, pies out the ass.
Then all hell broke loose. Babies, divorces, deaths. More marriages and re-marriages. Re-locations. More BS. Sacred baby cannot travel. All wishing to see sacred baby must fly, drive, crawl to said location. Whatever…
After that, it all changed.
I have many favorite non-traditional Thanksgiving memories. Most of them I would rather forget.
One was a couple of years after I had married the ULTIMATE WRONG MAN. We drove to Savannah to “celebrate” with his mom, who was really his dad’s sister who had adopted him.
Poor old Crazy Daisy. She had married a man who cheated on her and gave her VD and left her sterile. All the poor old bat ever wanted was a child. When her brother knocked up some psycho who neglected and abused the little boy, he took him away and Daisy adopted him. And I married him, for some strange reason.
Anyway, after a couple of years, we decided that getting married was a HUGE mistake and the only thing we really had in common was a burning desire to kill Daisy and bury her in her own back yard.
We drove to Savannah that year to “celebrate” Thanksgiving with Crazy Daisy. She cooked the fuck out of a ton of food. She really wanted to put on the Ritz and got out all her good silver. Engraved with the letter “S”, for the last name of her VD-ridden Ex, Mr. Sherlock.
Fine and dandy. Except Daisy couldn’t see for shit, even with her Coke-bottle-bottom glasses. Couldn’t see that her silver was tarnished all to hell and back and STUNK to high heaven.
Bless her heart.
After dinner, we told her that we were thinking about getting a divorce, which sent her into high-pitched moaning and rendering of her garments. OMG! Who would want me now that I had been “spoiled”. WTF??? I was “spoiled” way before that.
So we retreated to our room, to silently giggle at Daisy and talk about how much fun it would be to kill her and bury her in her own back yard.
I think that’s the most fun I ever had with the wasband.