THE TURKEYS

If you do your research assiduously, you can discover lots of evidence that American families are completely dysfunctional and consist of traumatized psychopaths. The people who are embarassing, destructive, and cringe-worthy. This is something to keep in mind when you decide to fly back to West Virginia for Thanksgiving with them. Especially the cousins who have no concept of boundaries.

And there's always the risk of salmonella. Because some of your relatives can't cook and should not be encouraged, despite the need for family harmony.
Plus some things are just indescribable.

With or without bacon.


The airports will be filled with frustrated people, loud children, irritating blisters on speaker phones either trying to micromanage the shrinking staff at the office or warehouse, or telling their dense kinfolk that the plane will not land till two in the afternoon on Thursday.
Because of delays. Dee Lays! If you shout it, aunt Berry may understand.
She's both deaf and demented.

And at some point, you'll remember that Wifi is spotty in the valley. And that the nearest town, internet cafe, burger joint, emergency room, and atm are all thirty miles away.

There's no Mexican restaurant worthy of the name there.
No phở. No bánh mì. No Sriracha hot sauce.
Curry is grey there. Strange.



On second, third, and fourth thought, perhaps you should just stay home, have chow mein and broccoli beef delivered, and wash it down with a frosty rootbeer while binging Starwars with your French bulldog Moseley.




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