When people ask me what I’m doing for Thanksgiving, I usually answer “not a damn thing. I’m going to watch movies in bed then I’m going to go to the Driskill, have a Manhattan, read some Tennyson and enjoy having the entire city to myself.”
The envy is palpable.
So here’s my question. If everyone’s so jealous of my Thanksgivings –which are admittedly awesome– then why am I the only one spending them the way I see fit?
See, I’m pretty meh on the whole Turkey Day thing and I’d certainly rather hopscotch Hell than partake in yet another episode of Disordered Eating Theatre.
Of Thanksgivings in the house where I grew up, I don’t honestly remember a single happy one.
What I DO remember were the eyes on my plate, silently –or not so silently– measuring how much I was taking of each thing. If I wanted second helpings or put too much of one thing on my plate, eyebrows would arch or my grandmother (Madame Food Issues herself) would ask “do you really need that extra roll?” while my naturally whip-thin brother pretty much had a feed bag attached to his ears.
Now, I’m not what you might call “naturally predisposed to shame” but that’ll do a number on a girl, even in the best of weather.
And you know, it’s not like it still keeps me up at night but at this point they’re not going to change and I’m Too Damn Old to put up with that nonsense. So I don’t go.
Sometimes I spend the day alone, just enjoying how quiet everything is. Sometimes I gather with my friends –collectively known as The Misfit Toys– and celebrate with them.
This year I’m going to dine with a couple at their snazzy little boîte -which serves the best pork confit this side of Les Deux Magots and the best Ruby Manhattans anywhere– and then waddle off to The Driskill where I will partake of a Gibson in honor of my beloved Grandfather, who would’ve turned 81 today.
The moral of the story is the
filthy separatist heretics noble pilgrims blew that green and pleasant popsicle stand because they wanted to live life the way they saw fit, even though it probably upset their parents.
So why on earth –especially at Thanksgiving– shouldn’t we do the same thing?
Gobble gobble y’all. I’ll see you on Friday.