I have an incredible memory sometimes. While most people are able to recollect experiences, I can remember the calendar dates of those experiences.
As such it seems like it’s always an anniversary of something. In other words, I always have a reason to celebrate. It’s always a holiday in my head. As if the normal calendar items weren’t a big enough deal, this week was the anniversary of when I bought my car, my hedgehog’s birthday and Guy Fawkes Day, among other trivial items.
Some days are more important than others though. Like my birthday. And Halloween. And Christmas. And given their close proximity on the calendar, Halloween time really means the start of the neo-Christmas season. And my birthday is so close to Halloween that THAT means the start of Christmas. To simplify it, my birthday equals Christmas. Because after Halloween there’s nothing important until Christmas — usually.
The fourth Thursday in November, the rest of America tends to celebrate a holiday that I don’t usually recognize: Thanksgiving. As I did last year, I offered to work this Thanksgiving, in part to get out of having to endure the annual “celebration” that is Thanksgiving.
For those of you familiar with me from my radio days, my contempt for Thanksgiving should come as no surprise. For those of you who aren’t familiar, just google “Scott Leffler Thanksgiving.” It’s page-ranked.
Nonetheless, my loving mother asked if I wanted to do Thanksgiving this year. Bless her heart, she’s always trying. At first I said ‘no.’ But after thinking about it some more, I decided that I would actually celebrate America’s favorite giftless holiday. But I’d do it on my terms.
While I don’t “particularly care for” (pronounced “remotely like”) turkey, the thing that frustrates me about Thanksgiving the most is having someone spend hours — or days — creating a meal that I don’t like … and then give me the stink eye when I don’t rant and rave about how much I love it.
There’s this theory that “us men” can just sit in the living room and watch football while the “women folk” cater to us. Except I don’t work that way. I don’t believe in antiquated gender roles. I do laundry. I cook. I clean. I bake. True, I’m a bachelor and in my current situation, I’d have to do all those things. But I also did them all when I was married. And I’ll continue to do them all should my “bachelor-hood” change in the future.
In addition to my refusal to buy into gender roles, there’s the fact that there’s nothing more stressful for me than watching someone else work while I sit on my patootie. It’s guilt-ridden stress through and through. And it makes every bite of dinner guilt-ridden and stressful. It ruins the whole meal – to the extent that you can further-ruin turkey, at least.
So this year, I’m cooking the turkey. I’m making the mashed potatoes. I’m doing the stuffing. I’m hosting. Cleaning. And making doggie bags when we’re done. And then I’m going in to work. Guilt- and stress-free.
I hope this crazy plan works. Because while I may not like turkey, I prefer it to eating crow.
Scott Leffler is a Libra who likes long walks on the beach, burgers and pizza. Just not turkey. He often posts pictures of his dinner on Twitter @scottleffler.
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