You’ve been counting down the days on your calendar, eagerly awaiting that much-anticipated four-day Thanksgiving Break. Finally, you’ll be a back home baller with your parents who will cater to your every need and smother you with endless love. The best part? Thanksgiving dinner, duh. The turkey, the stuffing, the mashed potatoes, THE PIE. And oh yeah, sharing it with your family. Could there be anything better… or more awkward?
THE SETTING: Your home. Little do you know, also your grave.
Dad: So, sweetie, how’s school going?
You: Oh, it’s good. You know, just doing homework and preparing myself for a bright future. (Definitely not drinking excessively every weekend.)
Aunt: What are you studying again?
Aunt: So you want to be on TV? No offense, but I can’t see you on TV.
Brother: I can’t either. You’re ugly as hell. Everyone would turn the TV off.
You: SHUT UP. And no, I mean, I want to write for a newspaper, not go into broadcast journalist.
Mom: Have you seen her articles before? She’s always posting them all over the Facebook. I print them out and hang them on the fridge. They’re so good. You have to read them.
Aunt: I’ll read them later tonight!
You: Okay, mom. That’s enough. That’s also a little weird. Can we talk about something else?
Grandma: Tell us, do you have a boyfriend?
You: [Nearly chokes on a piece of turkey.] Um, no grandma…
Grandma: …a girlfriend?
You: What?! No. I just don’t have time for a relationship right now.
Dad: That’s good. You just focus on your school work. You don’t need a boyfriend.
You: Thanks, dad. Hey, can someone pass the mashed potatoes? And not talk about me anymore?
Uncle: Did you miss being at home? Your mom’s always talking about how much she misses you.
You: I miss having someone do my laundry and stuff.
Grandma: Do you not know how to do your own laundry? First, you can’t cook and now this. How are you ever going to find a husband?
You: Geez, Grandma. I’m only 21. I’m not thinking about marriage.
Grandma: I’m just saying…
You: Okay, can we eat pie now?
Uncle: Pass me the wine first.
Aunt: No, you’ve already had enough.
You: …Okay, let me go get the pie.
[As you go into the kitchen you can already hear your uncle starting one of his borderline racist jokes as your aunt kicks him underneath the table and your grandma goes off into a story about the good ole days when technology didn’t exist. Meanwhile your mom and dad are talking about how nice it is to have you home again. You open the oven door and something doesn’t smell right. Great, you managed to burn the apple pie you baked. Again. Happy Thanksgiving?]