On this day, I wanted to let you all know that I am thankful for each and every one of you. Some of you I know well while others I know through the Blogsphere. But all of you are important to me. Thank you:)
To show my appreciation, I’ve dug up this morsel out of my head from the past. I hope you enjoy.
Setting: 10 people sitting around our dinner table trying to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner. I’ve changed names to protect, well, everyone.
Margaret (in her late sixties): So Claire, are you going to formally introduce your new boyfriend to us.
Claire (wearing dark eye shadow and black lipstick, and looking completely disinterested): Grandma, I told you. He’s not my boyfriend. We hooked up once in the back of his pickup truck at a Marilyn Manson concert. That doesn’t mean we’re dating.
(The boyfriend’s face is covered with long, jet black hair. He flips his head to the side momentarily pushing his hair away from his face, exposing pale skin and a patch over one eye.)
Aunt Beverly (mid sixties and tipsy): When your mom and I were your age, we had a wild side as well. Isn’t that right, Margaret.
Margaret: Beverly, you hush now. Not in front of the kid. (She laughs.)
Timmy: Grandma. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m 12 now. And besides, I’ve seen a real vagina.
Stella (Timmy’s mom): Timmy! Word selection??
Timmy: Sorry. I’ve seen a actual vagina. I walked in on Kim and Paul last night. They were in the laundry room. At first I thought he was banging his hips against the washing machine. I couldn’t see well. It was dark. So I flipped the light on. It wasn’t the machine he was banging.
Claire: Wait, Paul isn’t here yet. He’s arriving tonight, right?
Kim (early forties): Timmy, sweetie. You’re telling fibs now. Your older brother Hunter was stretching me out. (She turns her head left and right). I have fibromyalgia.
(Everyone glared at Hunter. He kept his chin down and continued shoving mashed potatoes into his mouth.)
Margaret: Fibro what? Is that a yoga stretch?
Claire: Yeah, it’s also called The Hungry Cougar.
Beverly:: No wonder the towels came out especially fluffed. (She winks at Kim). Good for you, girl. That’s what I think. We’re not getting any younger. Get in there while your eggs are still good. I probably let a dozen good ones go to waste.
Jim (Margaret’s husband): Beverly??
Beverly: Well, I’m sorry Jim. But I speak the truth. In our generation there was too much pressure for women to find a man and produce children. It wasn’t fair. (She reaches into her pocket and retrieves something and pops it into her mouth.) I should have been a lesbian. Take some pressure, off.
Kevin (Margaret’s grandson): Oh yeah, a lesbian in the 1950s. That would have been an easy life.
Claire: Are you still taking pain pills?
Beverly: Oh don’t be silly. I’m just taking a little relaxer. These holidays stress me out.
Kevin: Maybe you shouldn’t drink if you’re taking pills.
Beverly: What would Jesus do? (She lifts her wine glass and takes a substantial sip.)
Jim (Rolls his eyes): Here we go.
Stella: Why do you always have to bring Jesus into it.
Beverly: Oh relax, Stella. Loosen that fucking bun a little bit and have some fun. I know you have it in with Jesus. I’m just kidding you.
Kevin: Jesus is fictional. He was created so that people didn’t feel insignificant in the world.
Stella: What are they teaching you in school these days? If you mother were here right now. Honestly.
Kevin: Aunt Stella. I’m sorry but it’s a little silly that people have convinced themselves that they know exactly who this Jesus was and what he wanted. It’s a cult.
Stella: That is–
Beverly: You know what’s silly? That I’ve had an empty wine glass for several minutes and not a single one of you jumped in to help me out. Timmy, honey, can you go get Auntie Bev some wine.
Stella: It’s completely outrageous that you would call Jesus fictional. So an entire religion was made up?
Kevin: Well, yes.
Jim: Hey Everyone, it takes a village now. Let’s keep that in mind.
Beverly (who now has a replenished glass of wine): I’d like to porpose, propose, a toast. (She stands up). This woman over here. (She points to Margaret) is like a sister to me. (Margaret is actually her sister). She was there when I was down and out. She came to my defense on more than one occasion. She’s the Jesus we should all be focused on. Okay, there was that one time when she screwed the boy I was interested in. It took a long time to forgive her, didn’t it Margaret, but I did. Blood is thicker than wine. Or is it wine is thicker than water. You get my point.(Her voice gets louder). This woman is un-fucking believable. You wouldn’t have anything to be thankful for today if it weren’t for her. Our dear Margaret.
Kevin: Your relaxer has kicked in, I see.
Beverly: Oh fuck you, Kevin. Ivy League Kevin. I could debate the shit out of you from now until next Sunday. I don’t need a fancy certificate to tell me I’m smart.
Kevin: You’re a drunk drug addict. Doesn’t take much intellect to pull that off.
Beverly: You little shit. (She lunges across the table at Kevin, gets her leg trapped in her chair, and face plants onto the table.)
(Everyone jumps up to help her. Well, almost everyone. Claire and her boyfriend start to make out, and Hunter grabs a roll out of the basket on his end of the table. Jim gets Beverly back into her seat. Beverly continues to thrash her arms toward Kevin, mashed potatoes and gravy dripping from her face. Paul walks into the room holding flowers and a bottle of wine.)
Paul: Happy Thanksgiving!
Everyone in unison: Fuck you.