Anyway, as far as holidays go, this one is kind of all-over-the-place. I personally have very little emotional attachment to pilgrims, and turkey is probably my fifth favorite variety of poultry. Growing up in a non-religious household, there wasn’t a lot of praying going on at the dinner table (aside from the few mumbled times I whispered, “Please, please, don’t let anyone mention politics”). I have vague memories of everyone taking turns announcing what they’re thankful for, though I think everyone except for grandparents was being sarcastic. But yeah, I still did all the traditional stuff. Leftover sandwiches. Parade-watching. I’m sure I made a whole flock of paper turkeys with my handprints.
(Fun Fact: a group of turkeys is not called a flock. It’s called a rafter. Because bird enthusiasts have way too much time on their hands.)
All of this is a long of saying: Happy Thanksgiving, world. While this holiday isn’t a particularly important one, at least not for me, it does occupy a very special place in my heart.
Because of the stuffing.
Also, a group of bluejays is called a party. Why can’t we just eat them instead?