We’re two days away from the time of year when I shall face those who share some small fraction of genetic material with me. And most certainly, I shall be bombarded with the most lambasting comments about my woeful lack of attachment in my life to an entity with a womb who can continue the family name. For that I’m thankful.
But as far as I’ve known, or rather, up to this past Sunday, my nuclear family and I have decided that we would spend this Thanksgiving as a nuclear family, with me managing the traditional American fare. I’ve been searching for the perfect recipes for turkey, gravy, stuffing, mash potato, oh my. Last night I was going to make a grocery list. But I get the dreaded phone call, a call informing me that the clan is required to congregate. Sigh. I really wanted to cook. Now, I have dried up turkey and nasty chunky gravy to look forward to. Yay!
Unrelated to Thanksgiving, last night I had a strongest of desire to cuddle. So, I went over to my cousin’s to play with her dog. I felt much better after that.
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