I ate too much. (Although, it is Thanksgiving, so it might be redundant to say that.) It's that time of year my sister does the one thing she's good at (aside from complaining, being bitchy, and knowing everything) which is making turkey. A twenty-pound bird- stuffed, rubbed with butter, marinated a champagne (although I think my sister gets more of the wine than the bird does) and wrapped in bacon before being roasted golden brown. (Man, that reads even better than it eats.)
But the sides are becoming very pedestrian to me. Same stuff every year. Bland mashed potatoes. Greasy stuffing. The affluent concept of shrimp cocktail. I tire of holidays and their "traditions". I say if the routine bores me I should do something else. I should do something else. Move out of my parents house and live like a bohemian, where I won't be forced to uphold any traditions. But I'll just roll over in my over-sized holiday sweater (engineered entirely to stop food from landing on my pants) in this coma. I don't even like turkey. Why did I eat so much?