Wednesday night we continue with the raucous festivities that I for one am known for: a movie 
(The Blind Side = excellent), pizza for dinner (=good reason to move here, as if the post office women weren’t enough), and a highly competitive card game. Whew, total madness! Don’t try this at home, kids, please.
The next morning, we pick up Jenn’s Aunt Kate and head over wood and dale to Jenn’s parents’ house. Once there, almost as soon as I walk in the door, it begins: “Tasha, would you like some chocolate? Some nuts? Here, have some cookies. How about trying this whipped cream sauce? Why don’t you sit down and relax?” Now, most people would be unaware of what’s really going on here, but I recognize the pattern right away. Yes, it’s clear that these folks are trying to kill me. It’s exactly like what I see with my brother Andrew in California when I go out there to visit him – as soon as he knows I’m coming, he starts laboring over these complicated menus replete
with rich desserts and coffees and béarnaise sauces and duck fat, etc., all while devising running routes for me that invariably get me hopelessly lost, through no fault of my own, of course. Clearly he has a vision of my fat-clogged arteries giving out on me as I’m off on some mountain trail communing with the turkey vultures, but so far I’ve refused to succumb. As will be the case here in Boston, despite attempts to the contrary. It’s sad, really, when people don’t know how to deal with the obvious prowess and perfection of a triathlon goddess such as myself, and so just try to bring me down. Sigh – but at least I’m used to it by now.
Here, I dodge these attempts on my life for the next several hours – throwing them off by accepting their offers of chocolate, cookies, nuts, etc. – until it’s time to sit down for Thanksgiving dinner. Then the fun truly begins.
Carolyn, Jenn’s mom: Let’s all go around the table and say what we’re grateful for! Jenn, you start.
J: Friends and family. Tasha?
Me, feeling like a deer caught in headlights: Umm. Umm…….well, for some reason, the only things coming to mind are really sarcastic.
Susan, Jenn’s sister: Oh, that’s fine, we like sarcasm….
Me, debating: Umm…..
Everyone else: Go ahead! Sarcastic is great!
Me: Okay then. I’m grateful that it was only Stage II cancer?
(a brief moment of silence)
Me, rushing to add something:…..and I’m grateful for my awesome dog Kona? He’s the best dog ever….
Everyone, rallying: Perfect! Next!
We then pass the food around – enough to feed an army – and I randomly barge into the chaotic conversation going around the table, just to share the nuggets of wisdom I’ve accumulated over the years. I know from experience how much people appreciate this.
Me, modestly: …..so all my friends consider me the wise one in their midst, and….
Jenn’s twerpy 13-year-old nephew, interrupting: You have friends??
Me, coldly: Yes, and if you don’t watch out, I’ll write about your churlish nature on my blog. I have tens of readers, you know….
Twerp, snickering: Oh wow, me too, I have 3,000 “friends” on MySpace, we’re all really really close!
Me, voice dripping with sarcasm: I’m sure you fit right in with all the other juvenile delinquents on MySpace then….
The Family gives me the point in THAT conversation. Ah, it’s nice to be treated like one of the family……
(The Blind Side = excellent), pizza for dinner (=good reason to move here, as if the post office women weren’t enough), and a highly competitive card game. Whew, total madness! Don’t try this at home, kids, please.The next morning, we pick up Jenn’s Aunt Kate and head over wood and dale to Jenn’s parents’ house. Once there, almost as soon as I walk in the door, it begins: “Tasha, would you like some chocolate? Some nuts? Here, have some cookies. How about trying this whipped cream sauce? Why don’t you sit down and relax?” Now, most people would be unaware of what’s really going on here, but I recognize the pattern right away. Yes, it’s clear that these folks are trying to kill me. It’s exactly like what I see with my brother Andrew in California when I go out there to visit him – as soon as he knows I’m coming, he starts laboring over these complicated menus replete
with rich desserts and coffees and béarnaise sauces and duck fat, etc., all while devising running routes for me that invariably get me hopelessly lost, through no fault of my own, of course. Clearly he has a vision of my fat-clogged arteries giving out on me as I’m off on some mountain trail communing with the turkey vultures, but so far I’ve refused to succumb. As will be the case here in Boston, despite attempts to the contrary. It’s sad, really, when people don’t know how to deal with the obvious prowess and perfection of a triathlon goddess such as myself, and so just try to bring me down. Sigh – but at least I’m used to it by now.Here, I dodge these attempts on my life for the next several hours – throwing them off by accepting their offers of chocolate, cookies, nuts, etc. – until it’s time to sit down for Thanksgiving dinner. Then the fun truly begins.
Carolyn, Jenn’s mom: Let’s all go around the table and say what we’re grateful for! Jenn, you start.
J: Friends and family. Tasha?
Me, feeling like a deer caught in headlights: Umm. Umm…….well, for some reason, the only things coming to mind are really sarcastic.
Susan, Jenn’s sister: Oh, that’s fine, we like sarcasm….
Me, debating: Umm…..
Everyone else: Go ahead! Sarcastic is great!
Me: Okay then. I’m grateful that it was only Stage II cancer?
(a brief moment of silence)
Me, rushing to add something:…..and I’m grateful for my awesome dog Kona? He’s the best dog ever….
Everyone, rallying: Perfect! Next!
We then pass the food around – enough to feed an army – and I randomly barge into the chaotic conversation going around the table, just to share the nuggets of wisdom I’ve accumulated over the years. I know from experience how much people appreciate this.
Me, modestly: …..so all my friends consider me the wise one in their midst, and….
Jenn’s twerpy 13-year-old nephew, interrupting: You have friends??
Me, coldly: Yes, and if you don’t watch out, I’ll write about your churlish nature on my blog. I have tens of readers, you know….
Twerp, snickering: Oh wow, me too, I have 3,000 “friends” on MySpace, we’re all really really close!
Me, voice dripping with sarcasm: I’m sure you fit right in with all the other juvenile delinquents on MySpace then….
The Family gives me the point in THAT conversation. Ah, it’s nice to be treated like one of the family……
2 comments:
People still use MySpace? Weird.
Yeah, 13 year old twerps on MySpace? He doesn't have any REAL friends, does he?
You carry on a conversation with strangers like my father in law. You have the distinct advantages of having a sense of humor, recognizing sarcasm and being able to hear.
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