(no subject)
If the annual Thanksgiving visit to my aunt and uncle's can be an emotionally unsettling experience, it does at least have the aesthetics going for it. They live in a cozy little half a house full of mismatched furniture that always manages a sense of hominess rather than trashiness, despite the peeling paint. It's an old house, and it looks like an old house, and I can't help but respect that. The overflowing bookcases crammed against every free chunk of wall don't hurt anything, either. I think when I have a house of my own it should be like this--a tiny squishy house with more nooks than crannies. But it should not be right next to train tracks because that is a massive headache waiting to happen, not to mention interrupted reading time.
I'm pretty sure I only say mean things about my relatives because I am the unfortunate victim of cultural expectation, oh no! They are actually lovely people and we did Mad Libs through dinner rather than wax sentimental about what we're thankful for, for which I am very thankful.
So! Happy Thanksgiving, even though I seem to have missed it by eight minutes, whoops!
I'm pretty sure I only say mean things about my relatives because I am the unfortunate victim of cultural expectation, oh no! They are actually lovely people and we did Mad Libs through dinner rather than wax sentimental about what we're thankful for, for which I am very thankful.
So! Happy Thanksgiving, even though I seem to have missed it by eight minutes, whoops!