Just a note of warning: this post is really long and boring and scant on celebrity references. Proceed if you dare.
Thanksgiving is a lovely, really lovely, holiday, isn’t it? At least in thought, if not in action. There’s nothing too lovely about being stuck on a tarmac at Laguardia for three hours and missing your connecting flight to Detroit where you will spend the remainder of the long, very long, weekend with various and sundry members of your extended family, including your stultifyingly boring cousing Kori who wants you two to “hit the great Black Friday sales at the Oakcreek Bridgewood Mills Mall, especially the one at Boscovs, ooh and at Fredrick’s of Hollywood so I can get something special to wear for me and the hubs’ two-and-a-half-year anniversary” (although as far as you can tell, the “hubs”, i.e. your cousin-in-law Kurt the accountant, hasn’t looked in Kori’s general direction since the NFL lockout ended) and your great-uncle Herbert who smells like urine. But in principle, Thanksgiving is an entire day given wholly over to thanking people for stuff. Continue reading