Exit Strategy

Thursday is Thanksgiving. I'm not that fond of Turkey and yams but I'll eat a bowl vat of mash potaters and gravy like a boss. Depending on who prepared them. Depending on who prepared them you ask? Yes! is my emphatic reply. Think about your favorite restaurant, your favorite dish. Would it still be your favorite if you could see the cooks and knew about that time he shit himself on your cousins trampoline and just kept jumping? You've seen his style over the years. The unibrows, the gunts, the dirty fingernails, the flaky skin, the afro mullet? In my family Thanksgiving is a giant buffet where everyone contributes. I never eat based on what looks edible but based on who brought what. If this is true in your family and your disappointed no one ate your casserole it's not because you overcooked the noodles it's more likely because you need to trim the nose hairs Panama Jack.

Also, you overcooked the noodles. Way to fail.

Every year I run into my grandmothers house and yell "WHO BROUGHT THE F$%^&ING CHEESECAKE!!!!"

and then I see:

and then I scream: NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm not worried that my family reads my blog and will greet me with torch and pitchfork. They learned to dislike me years ago. Or so I would think, but I must be wrong because I seem to always encounter my second discomfort with Thanksgiving which is chit chat with a gathering of people whom are family yet I only know them through Facebook. Somehow I know current weird intimate details about them. Their hopes, their fears, their bad break ups, their hatred of Mondays and love of Fridays. Who their voting for. The fact that they LOVE booze on Friday and Jesus on Sunday. (to these people I say pick a road and stop straddling). I know all of these things but this is as far into a conversation as we can get:

Hi. Good to see you!
good to see you too.
[dead air] ..............
I should go say Hi to grandma

The small talk is awkward for sure but my least favorite portion of the show, the goodbye. In my defense I have come a long way and I now submit to the inevitable hug. I hate it though and this may be the year I take four steps back and end things more to my taste.

AVOIDING HUGS: My exit strategy's of yesteryear:
I faked I was choking and launched out the door on the guise I needed some fresh air
I picked up three large boxes (I was foiled when a certain relative just waited until I loaded them into the trunk. Which I then had to return later that day because those boxes were not mine)
I spilled a drink on myself - cream based works best apparently no one wants to hug a slimy mess.
I sneezed and let it run free (I was desperate) snot is just as effective as a cream based liquid.
I pinched my daughter. She cried. I swooped her up and held her close. Face into my chest so no one could hear her accuse me of pinching her and then it was "shh shh shh" and out the door! RUN FOREST!
I owned it Mission Impossible style. I crept out the front door got into the car and started honking. My family was confused but I got out of there with just a wave.
My daughter Audrey can fart on command. It's loud and it's proud and I have aimed and fired that child in a time of need.

This year I'm going in with a positive attitude and I'm bringing the pasta salad. I'm going to watch 15 back to back republican debates and I'm going to converse the sh*t out of those yolks. Then as their arms expand for the hug...... Fist bumps for all and for all a good night.