It’s always been my opinion that the fourth Thursday in November is reserved for the voluntary giving of thanks to God, nation, family, etc. However, as T-Day 2007 rolled by, I came to the painful realization that upsetting the gods of Thanksgiving leaves them with no choice but to squeeze every last bit of gratitude out of your haughty being through random acts of inconvenience and humiliation.
Beware, my friends, of upsetting the omniscient gods of gratitude.
I’m not entirely sure at which point during the preemptory weeks to Thanksgiving that I first upset this grand council. It might have been when I labeled Thanksgiving merely a “Kick-off-to-Christmas” holiday. Perhaps it was when I threw a brick through the window of Nordstrom for broadcasting their Thanksgiving observance and swearing not to decorate for Christmas until black Friday. Was it when I committed to driving back to Utah while dinner was still warm on the table to work a shift of frivolous retail? Or maybe when, in lieu of gushing our blessings around the dinner table, I suggested we all claim the things in life that annoy us the most.
“I’ll go first,” I said, my mouth full of creamed broccoli. “Neons and Civics disguised as racing cars.”
Believe me, dear readers; the Spirit of Thanksgiving has made me pay.
T-Day Karma is a sneaky fellow, first securing my Volkswagen as an accomplice. As I tried to make my escape after dinner, my on-again, off-again German companion (see prior posts) decided to offer its own fuel pump as a sacrifice to the Thanksgiving gods.
Fettered, but not broken by the demands of November gratitude, I instead solicited the help of my brother’s unregistered (shhhhhh!), but reliable Chevrolet for the trek southward, leaving my sad broken German on my parent’s cold Idaho curb.
Successfully arriving in Utah in time to work a midnight-to-eight am shift at Banana Republic and then a full day at my full-time job, the all-powerful Thanksgiving gods attacked my health. By the time I made it home on a very black Friday, my temperature was up and my spirit was down.
If only I had acquiesced at that point.
Instead I carried on, ill and unlicensed, until a pothole dug by the very spirit of gratitude took with it not only my brother’s tire, but also the rim of the front passenger wheel.
And so now, let it be known: to the spirit of Thanksgiving I surrender. You have my gratitude. I lay my undying humiliation at your autumn feet.
Beware, my friends, the gods of November.
Beware, my friends, of upsetting the omniscient gods of gratitude.
I’m not entirely sure at which point during the preemptory weeks to Thanksgiving that I first upset this grand council. It might have been when I labeled Thanksgiving merely a “Kick-off-to-Christmas” holiday. Perhaps it was when I threw a brick through the window of Nordstrom for broadcasting their Thanksgiving observance and swearing not to decorate for Christmas until black Friday. Was it when I committed to driving back to Utah while dinner was still warm on the table to work a shift of frivolous retail? Or maybe when, in lieu of gushing our blessings around the dinner table, I suggested we all claim the things in life that annoy us the most.
“I’ll go first,” I said, my mouth full of creamed broccoli. “Neons and Civics disguised as racing cars.”
Believe me, dear readers; the Spirit of Thanksgiving has made me pay.
T-Day Karma is a sneaky fellow, first securing my Volkswagen as an accomplice. As I tried to make my escape after dinner, my on-again, off-again German companion (see prior posts) decided to offer its own fuel pump as a sacrifice to the Thanksgiving gods.
Fettered, but not broken by the demands of November gratitude, I instead solicited the help of my brother’s unregistered (shhhhhh!), but reliable Chevrolet for the trek southward, leaving my sad broken German on my parent’s cold Idaho curb.
Successfully arriving in Utah in time to work a midnight-to-eight am shift at Banana Republic and then a full day at my full-time job, the all-powerful Thanksgiving gods attacked my health. By the time I made it home on a very black Friday, my temperature was up and my spirit was down.
If only I had acquiesced at that point.
Instead I carried on, ill and unlicensed, until a pothole dug by the very spirit of gratitude took with it not only my brother’s tire, but also the rim of the front passenger wheel.
And so now, let it be known: to the spirit of Thanksgiving I surrender. You have my gratitude. I lay my undying humiliation at your autumn feet.
Beware, my friends, the gods of November.
5 comments:
I still say you should stop text messaging while driving. And...since I was on the phone with you when you hit said pothole....maybe we'll throw talking on cell phones while driving out the window too. As for the German...maybe you should finally trade the darn thing in. I'm just saying...enough is enough!
I think you should trade the german for a bright blue neon, with a shopping cart handle looking fin on the back, all pimped out, with your name written in old english on the back of your very tinted windows. Maybe some flashing lights along the bottom when you open the door. . . .. just a thought.
You are a writing genius I tell ya! I just surfed over from Nicole's site and had to read yours because your comments were so funny. You are hilarious.
Brent here, I'm a friend of Danielle Palmer's.
Anyway, it was actually Festivus karma that got to you. You see, the airing of grievances (neons and civics), one of the tenets of Festivus, doesn't come until December 23. You pay for being a whole month early!
You are such a great writer. I love to come over and see what you will write next. I don't usually like to read stuff about nothing, but your stuff, I LOVE. (Is that okay for me to say that you are writing about nothing? I mean, it is about something, but you make everything seem significant. Should I stop digging?)
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