I absolutely love this time of the year. I like to sit in my Dr. Denton's (from Centreville, MI, natch) and watch the feebs on the Weather Channel talk about how holiday travel is going to be Armageddon because of all the storms. The only thing better is when you see that CNN shot of people in Hartfield-Jackson trying to pull their Samsonite through the maze of other people who got screwed before they actually lean across a counter and throttle the agent. Because after all, she's the one who really controls the weather not Mr. Snow Miser.
Yes, it's very nice not to travel on the holidaze. Try not to snort a beverage through your nose as you laugh at the tv.
We're forgoing Tofurkey this year for Roast Beast. Yes, I'm such a culinary iconoclast. A Rebel without a Roux.
Which brings me to the other big tradition of Turkey Day--shopping the day after. I don't remember this being such a big deal. But all the kids are doing it. Every store is trying to suck you in with incredible deals to get you in the store as early as possible. That's because when you're good and groggy and the egg nog rush has worn off, they know you'll just grab whatever is left in the middle of the aisle to get the hell out of the store. One of my friends swears that her husband doesn't actually shop for her. He just sprints through the store and whatever crap he can grab from those center displays is what she winds up with for Xmas. Holiday socks, ugly sweaters, slippers that make your feet sweat (and stink), tie racks. Anything in the center aisle should be a warning. Danger, Will Robinson, danger.
I don't know much about rampant consumerism, but if you're getting up early to be at Kohl's for the 4 am door opening, you may have a problem. That's like betting on pre-season football. I guess it could be worse. You could actually be camping out in the parking lot of the Bass Pro Shop overnight. None of this is made up, kids. Nothing says the holidays like camping in a parking lot.
So enjoy the time with your family, kids. Just because Mom always liked your Sister best doesn't mean you have to finish all the roasted garlic mashed potatoes. Or the way your in-laws stare at you while silently judging your worthiness based upon your domesticity. It could be a lot worse. That judging could be not so silent.
And nobody wants that. Especially after Aunt Ruth starts giving you those sloppy kisses after polishing off her highball of Old Fashioned.