Non-Turkey Day

It’s amazing what Thanksgiving does to people.

Suddenly thoughts of family and gushy gushy “quality time” invade the brain. Normally I shudder and push these thought to the far reaches of my brain where they can remain safe from the cold hard realities of the world outside my brain. But when it comes to Thanksgiving my filters just don’t work. Thus, family and the traditional dinner it is.

At least I thought so.

I mean, traditional dinner doesn’t work when there are two vegetarians in the family. We aren’t fair-weather vegetarians either. There are some who have a day off their vegetarianism. Perhaps they are the type that is in it to save the cutesy wootesy animals. Turkeys aren’t going to win any beauty contests after all. However, I’m in it to save the world. I can be pretentious if I want to.

But, my hopes of the traditional dinner were dashed when my mom decided to announce that she was off to Kelowna for the holidays. I tried the emotional blackmail thing but clearly am not a mother and thus, can not pull off that gut twisting guilt thing. Go figure.

My sister was working nights anyways. So Dad, Dad’s girlfriend, Dad’s girlfriend’s friend, my sister, sister’s boyfriend and I went out for Thanksgiving lunch. At our favourite Indian restaurant. Nice and traditional.

That night I did go to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. I had managed to wheedle my way into a friend’s family dinner. The Zutz’s are the loud family who always has the meals with too much food. Alina promised to cook me lobster tail, so as if I was going to pass that one up.

After listening to the pre-dinner show of an Aussie taking the piss out of a Newfoundlander, we settled down to dinner. Toasts were made. Alina’s brother is off to Grande Prairie for reasons that I will never understand because really, who in their right minds wants to live in the prairies? Alina got a little teary at that point which I suppose if you are close to your brother you get. I don’t see how you can get teary eyed over a brother who in high school used to sit on your face and fart, but maybe that’s just me.

The loud brother didn’t take kindly to the tears and told her to stop. Boys are boys, 3 years old or 30. Which is why I was then beamed with a flying carrot. I shot Keith my teacher look but apparently he doesn’t respond to those looks. It makes sense. I don’t think he responded to those looks in school as it were anyways. He just shrugged and said “you shouldn’t have sat next to her.”

Thanksgiving. Always an adventure. Of some sort.

S.