Thanksgiving. Tell Me How You Really Feel.

I’m currently writing a feature on Holiday stress. Except, I have no intention of sharing my own, however, relevant, in this particular article.

So instead, I will share it here.

I hate Thanksgiving.

I mean; who, aside from Indigenous Americans hates, let alone has the true right to hate Thanksgiving?

It’s not the food. I mostly like the food (although Roast Turkey really is not my thing).

And mostly, I like the company.

Mostly. Except, my parents. Only one is still alive, and yes, I will simply couple her as two because to be honest, they were both were and one still is, pretty awful.

I escaped Thanksgiving regularly when I turned 30. Annually, I flew to London for the weekend to visit a friend.

But when my parents started to age, I reluctantly bit the bullet and started attending. Mind you, it was terribly hard for my brother and sister-in-law to host them year after year without a buffer. I am and will be eternally grateful. But two days away from that dreaded annual event, and I find myself in the same place.

I hate Thanksgiving.

When I was in my twenties, I had a blow-out fight with my father on Thanksgiving morning. Of all the stupid…