Seeing the sun is officially considered a ‘treat’, pumpkin spice flavoring has weaseled its way into all things good, and Michael Bublé has started to defrost… You know what that means— It’s Thanksgiving bitches! The one day of the year where football is tolerated, overeating is applauded, and taking two hours to get ready just to stumble down to your dining room table is justifiable.
Things that are unavoidable this holiday season: 1) you will be interrogated by your distant family about all things terrible (your dead-end job, your non-existent boyfriend, your weight, and your life goals); 2) you will inevitably run into your old high school boyfriend (most likely he will still be wearing a sweater your parents bought him in 2011… classic, adds right up); and 3) Your mom and dad will treat you like the queen that you are.
Once I ride up into my hometown, I throw everything down— I leave my morals right next to my work, right next to my wallet, right next to the door. Walking into your parents house is like Simba on Pride Rock— everyone gushes over you, everyone knows you run this bitch, and everyone knows that if you wanted to, you would have no shame in eating everything in site.
Your mom made all your favorite foods, your dad bought all your go-to alcoholic drinks, and your dog won’t leave your side. Win, double-win, jackpot. Laundry, done. Pantry, stocked. Bed, made. Ass, wiped. Your mom and dad cater to all of your needs, and would never even dream of disappointing you in the slightest. They understand you have the choice of going elsewhere for Thanksgiving (boyfriend’s house, etc.), and they appreciate you for ditching the dude for ‘family time’. LOL, jokes on them though— the only bro’s in my life are Ben and Jerry, and of course, Noah Centineo. But cute of them to think otherwise.
Of course, this ideal attention is not entirely free. You have to listen to them bitch about the neighbours’ leaves falling on their property, how Aunt Kathy brought ‘store-bought’ dessert to dinner last week, and the abrupt ending of The Sopranos. But, fear not, all of this can be drowned out by downing your spiked apple cider and a quick switcheroo to the kid’s table. *PSA: the kids table is where the party is at. Kids say the wildest things, yet are always spot-on. You want the hottest tea? Talk to your six year old nephew, he’ll spill it all over the place.
Sadly, Thanksgiving only happens once a year. So really try and enjoy the feast, festivities, and your parent’s hospitality. Go in for thirds, clean out the pantry, get blackout with your uncle, and bring up Trump’s foreign policy to really get the party started. You can do whatever you want with no serious repercussions, enjoy. Although your parents can be a lot at times and you’ve considered many restraining orders in the past, sometimes they are just the right amount of obsessed with you. You need that balance. That’s why this Thanksgiving, I’m so f*cking thankful for my ‘rents (and not living at home).