For the last two years my sisters and I have jammed up the garbage disposal with peels and flooded my aunt’s kitchen.

Every year the holiday season sneaks up on me. I’m sitting around, enjoying summer, then BAM! I’ve got to prepare for finals, do Christmas shopping and figure out an excuse to leave Thanksgiving early. Don’t get me wrong; I love my family, but I can only take them in small doses.

The best reason I’ve found to either leave early or not come at all is a significant other. If I had a boyfriend, my family would not give me a hard time at all about trying to avoid my family responsibilities. Is it too late to start campaigning for a boyfriend?

Sometimes I say I have to work the next day or that night, but that excuse is usually shot down. If my busy self had had time to buy a car, this wouldn’t be a problem. I would be shouting excuses as I sped away into the night. Instead, I have to drag my dad away from the family event as well. There is a part of me that believes my dad appreciates this. He usually has to work early the next day, and I really hate sitting around watching movies with my family.

My mom cooks her Thanksgiving dinner some time in the spring, usually. She has the right idea. Our immediate family and a couple friends sit down for a casual, yet delicious, meal of turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, veggies, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie. We eat, make some to-go containers, tell her how much we love her, maybe watch a little TV and go home. It’s perfect.

My Thanksgiving day is not nearly as calm. We drive down to Rockford to my aunt and uncle’s house. Everyone has about two drinks and judges me for having three to 10 drinks, depending on my mood.

My family insists that my sisters and I peel potatoes for dinner. Where are my cousins to help? They’re running late, as usual. For the last two years my sisters and I have jammed up the garbage disposal with peels and flooded my aunt’s kitchen. You would think that they would stop letting me anywhere near the kitchen, but no. Five bucks says my sister and I end up flooding the kitchen again.

My sister who is closer to my age won’t be able to make it this year because she has to work. (I suspect she volunteered to work.) It looks like it’s just me and my 16-year-old sister making my aunt’s kitchen into a swimming pool. The turkey is always pretty good, and my family is very good at making me feel like what I do doesn’t matter, so at least that part of the holiday is successful.

On the other hand, I hate everything about green bean casserole. (The name, the look, the crunchy stuff on top, the smell). Also, I’m not a big fan of yams. The worst part of the holiday is — drum roll please — my family doesn’t believe in pumpkin pie. Can you believe that? What is that? It’s sacrilege! (Wait: can it be sacrilege if it’s not a religious holiday?) We have pecan pie and apple, I think. As far as I’m concerned, it’s not Thanksgiving without pumpkin pie.

OK, so: the meal is decent, but nothing spectacular, the preparation necessitates I wear a life-preserver and my family is judgmental. Obviously I look forward to this holiday every year.

Quick, I need to accomplish something major and be engaged by Thanksgiving! I can’t stand another year of my family asking if I’m dating anyone, how my writing is going and when I’m expecting to graduate.

I would love to have a response to these questions this year. I’m thinking about printing out all of my fan letters and passing out copies at dinner. That would keep them quiet for a couple minutes. I knew I should have spent more time this year working on my book, looking for a husband and taking more classes. There’s always next year.

Next year I’ll show them. Next year, I’ll attend with my diploma, copies of my book for everyone and my wealthy, liberal, artistic fiance. I’m sure they’ll just ask, “Did you graduate with honors? Is your book a bestseller? Are you planning on getting married anytime soon?”

Maybe I can manage to get a well-timed flu.

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