[adsenseyu5] Turkey Day is my favorite holiday, filled with booze, family, and my favorite food groups--this year we part ways. I fast days in advance to consume more food than a small village in India for my favorite holiday. I spent the Day of Gluttony with my ex-fiance's family, without him. My anxiety started with Turkey morning's sunrise.
We focused on the baby to avoid sticky conversations--the room still changed subjects when I entered. I was wearing Guilt like a badge so nap time was a welcome reprieve from awkwardness. Ascending the stairs, I mentally noted the food till gone ratio--silently begging Random Cousin not to eat all the spinach casserole. Had there been a spouse present this would be interpreted as 'Save a Plate' in short. I went to the 'Battle of Nap Time' spouse-less, thus ill prepared--no one heard my stomach pleading for a plate.
I fought her to go down, maintaining the figure eight rotation until my arms failed. When night-time came over her, I snuck her onto the warm blankie--hoping to curb her alarm to the body temperature change--no success. With every mishap, I heard silverware hitting china and was certain that the Pseudo Ex-In Laws were in a gluttonous stupor. Chairs screeching across the floor increased my heart palpitations to startle her into alertness--she smirked at my ill-fated attempts. My mom arms became more defined with every movement, calorie use increased, and my starvation threshold escalated. Talking and laughter were equally irksome as this was a clear indication the Gluttons had moved on from thinking about their tummies to the secondary tasks of socializing. Inevitably, the end was near.
Sweating, I finally snuck out of her room sans protest. Walking down the stairs, I noticed there was no seat for the Ex Fiance Baby Mama. Child in Bed + Pseudo Ex-In Laws House for Turkey Day = Uncomfortable. I secretly wanted to feign failure and bring her down with me so I would have a distraction to focus on. I manned up, lifted my shoulders and descended proudly into the eatery. I grabbed a random plate with the determination of a presidential candidate. I owned this food. As I strolled up to the buffet, it affirmed all my fears. There were 4-5 grains of cold, sticky rice left for the taking--the dressing and the rest of the turkey pairings were consumed. The tears started before I had time to choke them back. They were on a mission and I wasn't winning this war. I had an out-of-body experience and I looked foolish. Foolish for thinking this was my family. Foolish for believing lies. Foolish for bringing her here out of my own best judgment just so they could be with her.
An after-thought plate was made by a gentlemen who saw my sadness clearly enough to know that a plate of scraps would make all the difference. The plate of death is resting in the microwave now, wrapped in its shroud of tin foil. I'm protesting Turkey Day. Thanksgiving, you're no longer my favorite holiday. My eyes are still swollen--I will fast on you from this day forward.
*Loosely based on fact but purely fiction
