An odd American holiday. I'm not falling for the Pilgrims and Indians sitting down to a well laden dinner routine that was handed to me in grade school. But I like to see my people, I get to listen to my mom yell at the television (football) and I get to go into a tryptophan coma. There will be a parade. There will be a Santa. There will be the beginning of a long litany of Christmas commercials that will slowly drive me insane. And there will be the inevitable cranberry heap slid out of a can, retaining the rings from its recent home on its being. My mom will have some. My dad will have some. The rest of us will stare in awe and horror at the creature from the back pantry.
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