How millennials are ruining Thanksgiving
Dearest millennial host,
It’s me, your 19 pound turkey, dropping in with a very important message about Thanksgiving. I know a written letter seems a little formal, especially since you are about to be wrist deep inside of me, but it’s pretty hard to get your attention any other way.
For example, do you remember the other day when you thought you heard a noise coming from your trunk while you were on your way home from the grocery store? Well, that was me trying to get your attention.
I mean, the reason I was trying to get your attention in the car was because I heard that new Ariana Grande break-up anthem playing on the radio and I wanted you to Turn. It. Up.
Thank you, next is my jam… my cranberry jam (Thanksgiving joke, nailed it).
But push those thoughts of Pete Davidson and his BDE aside because I’m actually writing you today for an entirely different reason.
I’m afraid that I’ve got some bad news for you. So gather close my little #psl chugging, ugg boot wearing, infinity scarf owning green bean casseroles, because I want to talk to you about how your entire generation is ruining Thanksgiving.
I know generally speaking whenever we talk about how millennials are ruining something, your eyes roll so far back into your head that they touch your brain. You’ve been blamed for everything from the decline of napkin sales to the end of the top sheet. So it really should come as no surprise that you’re also taking the wrap for what has happened to Thanksgiving as well.
Let us begin with my primary complaint, the terminology you’re using.
The day is Thanksgiving, not Turkey Day, Thanksgiving – it’s a day for us to all come together to give thanks. Do you think the pilgrims gave it some cutesy name? Never mind, bad example. Forget about the pilgrims… forget I ever even mentioned the pilgrims.
Also, do you even know when Thanksgiving is? I do, because it’s the same damn day every damn year, the fourth Thursday in November. It’s not Friendsgiving (your Thanksgiving dress rehearsal), it’s not the Saturday before, or the Friday after, it’s that Thursday. My brethren and I don’t stick out our actual necks, and sacrifice our lives, for some made-up day. I am 19 pounds of THANKSGIVING goodness. Do not bring shame upon me and my family by wasting my delicious carcass on some other random day. Just don’t.
Speaking of my carcas… Thanksgiving Day is a day for turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, yams topped with marshmallows and enough brown sugar to make you forget that they are not a dessert, and vegetables. Not lobster tails, not steak, not… tofurkey… Jesus Christ, tofurkey?! As you kids would say, I can’t even.
The holiday day is all about respect. After all, Thanksgiving is my funeral, and the dining room table my funeral pyre. I just want to be surrounded by the trimmings I know and love.
And so help me god, if I so much as hear the word “tablescape” I will hop right up off my serving platter and giblet-slap you. I am the centerpiece, the star, the piece de resistance. My perfectly crisped and browend skin atop the table is all the aesthetic that the day needs.
Let’s see, what else? Oh yeah, I want to talk to you about your nana. Listen, I get it, she may go on about some stuff that you’re just not interested in, or maybe she keeps asking you about your Pokemon Go exploits even though you keep telling her that Pokemon Go is so last year, but you need to cut the old lady some slack. In her day they didn’t put their Christmas trees up until Christmas Eve and there was like, one channel on TV. Enjoy the time that you all have together because it’s not guaranteed.
As I bring this letter to a close, I want remind you to call your mom on occasion (or okay, just send her a text, I know your people don’t call).
Your 19 pound Thanksgiving Turkey
PS – your uncle is going to ask you again this year when you’re going to move out of that apartment you share with 1 – 3 roommates and finally get your own place. I know, it was his generation that wrecked the real estate market but cut him some slack. He’s probably very worried about what is going to happen to his nest egg in this volatile new market we’re entering.
Me? I’m not too worried about it. My nest egg is recession proof as it’s just an actual nest with some eggs in it.