Andy and I didn’t travel this Thanksgiving. We’re staying in LA and having dinner with his three cousins, their spouses, and his aunt and uncle. Andy’s happy, because it’s low stress and highly economical.
He’s got a point. Yet I’m sad I’m not with my own white and uptight family, playing hearts and pigging out. This year, we wouldn’t even fight over politics — even Republican Big Brother agreed that Trump is a walking horror show.
As for low stress, well, that’s easy for Andy to say. He’s not the one who spent four hours yesterday making a maple cream pie from scratch yesterday. He’s not the one who discovered that her husband had used up all the flour, either.
Andy was supposed to be watching the pie.
Andy’s lucky he’s still alive, especially since I only made the pie because his cousins specifically requested we bring that pie for their Thanksgiving Feast.
Andy, in an effort to avoid getting a pie thrown at his head, tried to minimize the damage. “Honey, it’s no big deal! You were going to cover it with whip cream anyway, so just fill in the hole with whip cream!”
“Are you insane?!” I shrieked back. “I cannot serve your family cat-eaten pie!”
“But they’ll never know!”
“I’ll know! And for God’s sake, she ate a hole with the same mouth she uses to CLEAN HER BUTT! It’s not sanitary!”
“Just NO! What is wrong with you?!” I waved the pie in a most threatening manner, then carted it off to the fridge. Then I went into my room and cried. And got a grip, because, honestly, it’s only a pie. A stupid PIE.
We aren’t starving. Our families aren’t in harm’s way, like so many other families.
If I had the mental energy to flip out over a pie, well, I should be thankful for my privileged life.
Andy went to the store and got more cream.
We cut the cat-desecrated piece out of the pie and threw it away. We had undesecrated pie for dessert last night, and I ate another piece while writing this post.
And yes, I had to fight off the cat. Again.
In a few more minutes, I’m going to make another maple cream pie. (Andy’s family will never know it, but they should be thankful that I was there to save them from cat-butt pie.)
But before I tackle another crust, I’m going to donate to the Native Americans who consider Thanksgiving a day of mourning. And with good reason, given our government’s history of broken promises and genocide.
I’m thankful the original Americans still endure.
If you would like to help, here’s a link or two:
Amazon wishlist for Medics (includes heaters, drones, camping supplies)