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Thanksgiving Day...



Fordham University


- satire

Thanksgiving Day...

A day to shove stale bread up a turkey's ass and celebrate.

Victoria Munoz


Read time: 4 minutes.

10:32 AM: You finally open your eyes after a long night of binge drinking with the three people from high school you still like.

11:03 AM: You scroll through your newsfeed for a good twenty minutes to be informed that Alyssa from your junior physics class is engaged to her ROTC sweetheart.

11:33 AM: Your mom detects you’re hungover. She passive aggressively leaves you some Ibuprofen on your nightstand.
11:50 AM: You feel good. You look good. You’re wearing your favorite loose sweater to conceal future bloating.
12:15 PM: Your mother has chosen you to carry out a task that you have the highest chance of not fucking up. In my case, my mother assigns me mashed potatoes – which I still manage to fuck up.

12:30 PM: You’re still slaving away- potato mashing your little fingers to the bone while your younger brother plays 2K and eats Doritos.

12:40 PM: You’ve leveled up to the sauteed vegetables.

1:00 PM: Family members you haven’t talked to in years (other than in the comment section of the pro-Trump Facebook video they shared) start to roll in. The food isn’t ready so you’re forced to entertain them by discussing your love life (or lack thereof) and how school is going.
2:00 PM: After discussing your ex-boyfriend of 10 months and reestablishing for the millionth time you are single, the food is ready.
2:55 PM: You manage to stuff your belly with an unnecessary and almost grotesque amount of food.
3:45 PM: You’re enjoying a “homemade” pie that your Grandma made which coincidentally tastes exactly like a pie from Village Inn.
4:00 PM: The food is cleared and everyone decides to play Monopoly. Your hot mess uncle gets a little carried away and throws a turkey leg at your 8 year-old cousin. He cries. Your uncle also cries. Everyone expected this.
4:30 PM: Your dad opens up a bottle of wine for the table and you get to drink some; you finally feel completely cut off from the Kids table. You are now a grown woman at the grown man and woman Thanksgiving table.

4:45 PM: Your mother shames you for reaching for your fifth bread roll.
5:00 PM: You’re feeling a little tipsy and a little bored with the current conversation of Sante Fe New Mexico’s exquisite cashmere ponchos and you stare at the Kid’s table with envy and nostalgia.
7:00 PM: Everyone’s still here.
9:00 PM: The fourth bottle of wine is opened. The third turkey leg is thrown at your cousin. All your cool, hip young (but older than you) cousins have abandoned you for hipper, cooler plans. There is still no sign of anyone having the slightest intention to get the fuck out of here.

10:00 PM: After being interrogated about your non-business-major for an hour, you’re now having an existential crisis.

10:43 PM: Everyone is finally gone.

10:58: You frantically analyze Degree Works to see how to transfer into Gabelli.

11:03: You google “Is living with your parents that bad?”

11:05: It looks bad. You take a piece of Village Inn pie and call it a night.