It's time to play a little game I'm going to call: "How many times will I need to go to the store before Thanksgiving because I forgot something?"
I've got a list as long as my arm and I'm heading to the grocery store today for all of my Thanksgiving accoutrements. The meal has been planned carefully, and my list has been quadruple-checked. Still, it never fails that I will miss something. And I will probably not realize it until I'm elbows-deep in some recipe, and will then need to run to Safeway at 1 a.m. for cream cheese and some greasy teenager will sidle up to me in the parking lot and ask to use my cell phone and I'll be like I WILL KILL YOU. This happened recently, is why I'm saying that.
The plan is always: Make The Holidays My Bitch, but mostly what ends up happening is I become the holidays' bitch. It's inevitable. Perhaps I should embrace it and just run, laughing maniacally through the malls. I could wear fair isle sweaters and tell strangers to have a wonderful Christmas. If I weren't a hermit who hates everyone. "You hate everyone. That's kind of your thing," my husband says, fondly. He is, of course, my polar opposite. Loves everyone. I just say, "Yes. It kind of is my thing." Mainly I just hate strangers who get in my way while I'm looking for canned pumpkin and bags of cranberries, and I really hate the cashier who shouts at me DID YOU FIND EVERYTHING YOU'RE LOOKING FOR even though I should probably have more patience with her because she might have some kind of mental disorder that causes her to act like an asshole and shout at people.
I knew this girl who was very zen and said to me she assumed that everyone who was driving erratically was desperately trying to get to the hospital. That was very generous of her. Because the fact is most people are driving like dicks because they're dicks. Which has nothing to do with the asshole cashier.
This is really just procrastination at this point. I've got to go out there soon. There's a turkey with my name on it behind the butcher counter. GO FORTH AND PROSPER. Make Thanksgiving your bitch, my friends.