I proudly announced last holiday season that I would be hosting Thanksgiving for my side of the family at our house. And I intended to do so until they all flaked on me.
First to go? My Dad! He is going with his "lady friend" to her son's house. He was too chicken to tell me, so he had my sister break the news before finally telling me himself. "Fine," I told my sis. "We have seen a lot of Dad lately," alluding to the fact that we saw him in various states of undress while recuperating from surgery. Ick.
Then the brothers both flaked. Bro #1 says something along the lines of whine, whine, two-hour trip each way, must work next day...blah, blah, blah. Other bro's excuse was that his wife would be in NY, apparently leaving him completely helpless to drive, eat or enjoy a family holiday. I have a feeling my brothers will be honoring our Native American friends on Thanksgiving with a trip to the casino in Temecula.
My oldest sister lives in Texas, so they do their own thing. That leaves me and the other sis. Four adults and three kids. For Thanksgiving. Would only have to add one leaf to the dinner table. I was just going to buy a turkey breast. But then the in-laws decided they would join us since there is some sort of turf war with their other clan members. That always makes everything so nice, doesn't it? Combining families because of a family rift that will not be discussed. Good times. Good times.
Hosting a family holiday dinner is not for wussies. It's for closers. And folks, I'm closing in on a big, giant Malibu and Diet Coke. And it's only Monday.