Flash Fiction,  Writing

The Story of Thanksgiving, Part II

Part 5 of the Holiday Story Series

Look, I was a bit rude when I started telling you the Story of Thanksgiving before. I probably said some things and used some language that I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin anything, or be the bad seed at the party, so let’s just put it behind us and have a good time today.

I really am grateful for all of you. I am. I mean, I know I haven’t acted like it all the time, and we’ve had our differences, but it’s not like there wasn’t some give and take, right? I mean, we’ve all been there. Sometimes we just say things we shouldn’t have, and it’s the ol’ open mouth, insert foot, am I right? Like what you said yesterday, Carl. That wasn’t really well-received, but that’s okay, I got over it. I think we can all be the bigger man and get over stuff. Or, you know, be a better lady. I don’t want to leave out you ladies. I know you can stand to hear some of this.

What, Mom? Stop grabbing me. No, I’ve only had like two glasses. Three tops. Hardly any.

Anyway, I guess Mom wants me to shut up. Nothing new there. But you gotta love her, right? I mean, she’s our mother. It’s either love her or stick her in a nursing home, right guys? I’m just kidding you, Mom. Aw, come on, don’t look at me that way. You know I love ya.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, Thanksgiving. It’s a time to be grateful, right? I mean, this was some pretty fucking awesome food. Sorry, I mean, “friggin’ awesome”, sorry about that, Mom. Just one small tad suggestion for the future. Can’t we all bring crock pots or something, so we can keep stuff warm? The food is so tasty; it’s just a shame that it seems like we always eat it kinda cold or at least lukewarm. I’m just saying, a few crock pots or plate warmers or something.

Mom, stop grabbing me. I’m trying to make a toast here. Ha ha, shit, I don’t even have wine in my glass. Carla, babe, can you top me up? Carl and Carla, that is still seriously funny. You should name your kids like Carlito and Carl–Carltrish–Carltoris… Get it? I’m trying to combine Carl and clitoris. What? It’s funny. Come on guys, lighten up. Alright, I’ll pour my own wine.

To all you sorry saps. Sorry you have to put up with me, but I’m grateful for it, because it means I get some pretty fucking awesome food each year. Seriously, love ya all. Especially you, Carla. Looking pretty fine, per usual. Love that sweater. Nah, don’t get up, Carl, I got this.

C’mon guys, this doesn’t work if you don’t raise your glasses with me.

Fine, screw it.

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