I Am A Turkey Baby Who Misses Orphan Thanksgiving
My birthday falls on Thanksgiving this year, and I hate it. It could be worse; I could be one of those Christmas babies. Those people have so many issues when it comes to holiday wrapping paper on their birthday gifts that I can’t even touch.
The best thing about Thanksgiving is the food and long-ass four day weekend. It’s like four consecutive Sundays strung together. Here’s a drinking game: Take a shot whenever someone asks what day it is over the holiday weekend.
When I was a kid, my birthday was fine. My birthday parties with friends from school were either before Thanksgiving break or right after. However as an adult, Thanksgiving signals the end of the year. It is the time of introspection, contemplation and hateration. This is when I try to figure out if I have achieved anything of note and compare myself to my peers. [By the way, I have no idea who are my peers. There way too many generations living on this planet right now.]
Anyway, navel-gazing with a belly stuffed with turkey is bad enough. Doing it with family around can be tough.
When you are not living like a #girlboss or a #baller, Thanksgiving dinner with your family is like feeding tacos to a toddler. After a few pleasant moments, there soon will be an explosion of crap. For many years, I avoided the crap by staying in New York and having Thanksgiving dinner with friends. Some years, I would travel all over Brooklyn and Manhattan having dinner at cozy apartments with friends and strangers. One year, my friends and I dined at a French restaurant. The Thanksgiving prix-fixe menu at Cercle Rogue was not only affordable but also quite traditional. It was a relief to eat, drink and swear as much as I want without criticism from family members. Plus, none of my friends asked me why I wasn’t married yet. The only problem I have “Orphan Thanksgiving” is the term itself. It sounds like my friends and I are bunch of characters from Oliver Twist sitting around the table with cockney accents begging for more porridge. If I were an orphan, I would rather be Orphan Annie who lucked up and got adopted by some rich guy.
Instead of “Orphan Thanksgiving”, I suggest a new term like, “Avoid a Stressful Meal With People Who Don’t Share Your Politics”, “I’m Not Here to Explain What Bae Means”, or “ I’m Not Going To Discuss My Life Choices” Thanksgiving. My suggestions are a bit wordy, but you got a four day weekend to get used to it.
I moved back home over a year ago. It’s been an adjustment. I miss my friendly orphan Thanksgivings but the family Thanksgiving is not so bad. The food is excellent and the premium cable is plentiful. Whenever I get cornered in an impossible conversation, I deflect by offering to walk the dog. Dogs are the best.
