Valley Girl - Ashley's Totally Tragic Thanksgiving Survival Guide

Okay, so like, my Aunt Debra shows up literally TWO HOURS late because she got "lost" in a town she's lived in her entire life, and I'm like, ma'am, what? Then she brings this green bean casserole that is like, totally from Costco, but she puts it in her own Tupperware like we wouldn't see the sticker, and like, oh my God, we all saw it. The whole table was like, um, yeah, we see that UPC code, thanks for playing.

And then, as if, Uncle Rick starts carving the turkey like he's performing open heart surgery, and he's narrating every single cut like he's hosting the Food Network, and meanwhile the turkey's getting cold and everyone's just staring at their plates like hostages. I'm like, sir, just cut the turkey.

But wait, there's more. My cousin Madison, who is like, twenty-six years old, is still at the kids' table, and she literally brings a bottle of wine to sit with the eight-year-olds, and I'm like, okay, queen, the confidence? Iconic. But also, ma'am, you're getting dangerously close to juice box standards right now.

Then my grandma does The Thing where she's like, "So Tyler, when are you giving me great-grandbabies," in front of literally everyone, and Tyler just freezes like a deer in headlights. Like, fer sure, would rather fight Uncle Rick's surgically enhanced turkey right now.

And my mom and Aunt Linda have this like, totally passive aggressive comment battle over the stuffing recipe, except it's not even about stuffing anymore, it's about 1987 and who got the bigger bedroom, and they're both smiling while they say it, which is like, way scarier than if they were actually fighting. That smile says, "I will absolutely bring up your divorce."

My dad tries to break the tension with football, except he checks the score during grace, and my grandpa just gives him this look, and my dad puts the remote down so fast, like, sir, we all saw that.

By dessert, somebody's crying in the bathroom, the dog ate the mashed potatoes, and Aunt Debra is still insisting her casserole is homemade even though the UPC sticker is literally peeling off the Tupperware. But then by like, the end of the night, everyone's laughing, doing dishes together, and my mom and Aunt Linda are sharing wine like nothing happened, which is honestly the most terrifying part because we all know it's just getting saved up for Christmas.

So like, that's my family's Thanksgiving, babe. Total chaos, total love, total betrayal over stuffing. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody. May your casseroles be homemade and your relatives be completely, lovingly unhinged.