I've always liked Thursday. It's almost Friday and it used to be "ladies night" at a few bars I frequented in my younger days which holds good memories of $1 vodkas and very bad dancing.
However, tomorrow is Thursday and I know I'm going to hate this one. As you are probably aware, tomorrow is also Thanksgiving in America - a Thursday like no other - where Americans gather with their families, eat too much food, maybe watch football (if you're into that kind of thing) and remind themselves or eachother how thankful they are for even the littlest things... like your uncle throwing manners aside and tossing a roll in your general direction becuase its so much easier than passing the bread basket all the way down the table, your mother secretly counting how many glasses of wine you're drinking, or simply sitting across the table from your father.
I know the best thing to do would be to share the tradition of Thanksgiving with my British husband and friends (since I suppose they are my family here), and we are having a meal on Saturday with traditional Thanksgiving dishes, but trying to replicate only reminds me how impossible it is to replicate.
I hate you, Thanksgiving, for making me want to hug my real family and for reminding me that a Thanksgiving meal will happen just as it always has, only without me.
I hate you, Thanksgiving, for calling attention to the fact my father will have dinner by himself this day because I went off and left him. The image of him eating yams alone is haunting me like your happy-turkey-togetherness could not possibly understand.
I hate you, Thanksgiving, for ruining Thanksgiving, and Thursday.