I got that phone call from my mother again. I don�t know why it always takes me by surprise�it�s actually reached the point of perennial occurrence to where I could predict it ahead of time on my calendar, like the phases of the moon. Maybe I blind myself to it because I know exactly what it will be, what it will mean, and I likewise know that I�ll never be able to enjoy myself with that knowledge lurking in the back of my brain like Nosferatu. Maybe I refuse to think about it in advance because, after all, you can�t stop a hurricane by worrying. Might as well enjoy the time you have, and be ready to batten the hatches at a moment�s notice.
The hatches? They�re about to get battened. The Halloween fling had barely been flung when my mother first started to call me up at random hours of the day and night, enthusing into my distracted ears about how she couldn�t wait to see me for Thanksgiving. This, I thought, was really quite sweet. My mommy misses me! It�s been a year since the last time I saw her, so of course I miss her too, and can�t wait to see her again. What I could wait forever for, on the other hand, is the evil specter of Holiday Pressure. He waits in the shadows, ready to snatch your good mood to shreds at a moment�s notice. That�s why God invented mulled cider, y�all.
My sister, The Jones, in characteristic fashion, has come up with a bulletproof scheme to avoid the curse of Holiday Pressure. Or rather, in her own way, she�s managed to make herself impervious to its permeating malignance. She�s spending Thanksgiving with her in-laws. Any child of a divorce yearns for in-laws, I think, so you never have to pick a side of the fence to come down on when both parties plan simultaneous Holiday dinners. I don�t have in-laws. (And, thanks to recent Michigan legislature, it doesn�t look like I�ll ever be able to�at least, in my home state. Thanks, Michigan! Glad I�m not paying my taxes to you fuckheads anymore. But, then, I promised no politics. Sorry.) What I have is a headache.
But the fact of my slow strangulation due to the ties that bind aside, I have other issues to deal with as well. Not only have I already been cooked up a big, fat Thanksgiving feast of Obligation, stuffed with Guilt and served on a hot bed of Trouble, but my mother�s also planning a horrifying dessert course. A spectacular and foreboding confection, multi-tiered and dripping with pain, aggravation, and homicidal rage. Whichever way the turkey arrows fly on Thursday, after all is said and done, come Friday my mother�s going to pry open my mouth and shove a Trip To The Mall down my throat.
The familial politics I can handle: if they piss me off with unreasonable demands, I�ll go to the grocery store my damn self and eat a Hostess fruit pie for Thanksgiving dinner, I�ve got no problem with that. The mall, I have a problem with. It�s not that I hate people (well, it�s not just that), but every single ingredient on the list she�s writing spells out a recipe for disaster. Tempest and Storm, my eternally bickering sisters, will be our companions. We will be going to the largest mall in the tri-county area. I have already completed 90% of my shopping, so this trip will be at best only of 10% use to me. We will be gone for so long that our loved ones will probably start holding candlelight vigils in the town square.
I have a ring that pops open, and inside it is a cyanide capsule. I�ll use it if I have to.
Now I realize I�m being terribly negative about what will, on the face of it, be a great weekend. I�ll be seeing my family and friends for the first time since Christmas, which will be wonderful. And I can hold my own against the crushing tide of Holiday Pressure as well (any woman who will drag her own child to the mall on the day after Thanksgiving gets to make no more demands, ever). But it will be a testament to personal fortitude if I survive the shopping. I�ll go, if for no other reason than I know how much it will mean to my mother, but�cyanide capsule. I�m just saying.
Anyway, it wouldn�t be a Holiday without a little stress, and I think we all understand that to a degree, and even revel in it a little bit. I really can�t wait to see everyone again, and a sick little part of me secretly gets a kick out of the squabbling give and take my mother and I engage in every year over this same topic. Truly, I�ve got nothing to complain about.
Whatever you guys are doing this weekend, I hope you all have a great one!
Someone Got Here By Searching For: my personal receptionist I�m Watching: The Food Network. Mmm�food. I�m Listening To: Schmack! by Steriogram. The single �Walkie Talkie Man� is fantastic, but�the jury�s still out on the rest of the album.