Oh Yes, We Celebrate It Also.

Thanksgivings in the Ramakrishnan household are typically nothing to write home about. Every year, my mom spends a measly forty five minutes in the kitchen preparing the same menu. First is the store bought macaroni and cheese, and each year it's consistency seems to get more disgusting. Following that are the instant mashed potatoes that are practically a potato flavored eucalyptus rub. Then comes the only decent part of the meal, the frozen vegetables. "They lack flavor, but not color." as my old man says. Finally is the pie. The pie is absolutely atrocious. In all honesty, I don't really even believe it is pie. The filling lacks a smoothness that always renders it to be reminiscent of mucus. The apples are practically raw, taste of lye, and are too far and few between. And then we get to the crust. I'm no food scientist, or historian for that matter, nor do I plan to be. But, I figure that pies have been around for quite sometime now. I'd even go as far to say that pies have existed for about two centuries. That being said, it bothers me that after two centuries of pie baking, people are still unable to perfect the most basic part of any pie. The crust. I'm being the most honest I have ever been in my life when I say that I would rather sell one of my kidneys on the black market than bite into the crust of my mom's Apple pie. In all seriousness, I'm surprised the military hasn't been using her pie crust as material for bullet proof vests. Oh, and turkey? Nonsense! Who would eat turkey on Thanksgiving? Not my family. We could never tolerate such tomfoolery regarding our meals! Now, I can only imagine what your thinking. "It's Thanksgiving, stop dwelling on the negative aspects of the day and consider what your thankful for." Listen. Hardly am I ever the pessimist in any situation. In fact, I get berated by my friends for being overly optimistic. But ask yourself this: Is there really much to be thankful for while sitting at a dimly lit dinner table, eating matter that hardly constitutes as food, while getting berated for not wanting to become a doctor by your immigrant parents? And with that, I leave you.