Nostradamus

Here's my predictions for tomorrow:

1. I will show up at my sister TIB's house with pies and whipped cream as requested, and she will make a snotty/snide/catty remark to start the festivities. (My favorite so far? "My God, you've still got that ratty old purse?"* (btw, the purse was old, but it was NOT ratty.))

2. Dinner will be ready approximately one and a half hours after the advised time.

3. Somebody will get drunk and belligerent. Everyone else will ignore that person, unless more than one person gets drunk and belligerent, at which point all bets are off.

4. At some time my niece L. will show up, coked out, and will be all lovely and smiles and hugs until the drugs start to wear off and she morphs into a seething mound of anger, throws an honest-to-god tantrum, and storms out the door. This usually occurs before dinner, but sometimes after.

5. My Mom and I will get stuck doing the (5,000) dishes, as everyone else will suddenly remember pressing engagements elsewhere as soon as the dishwashing liquid appears.

6. I will drive home, exhausted and very, very glad to have survived another holiday with the family.

Hope your Thanksgiving is calm, peaceful and bright!



*And yes, at that moment there was NOTHING MORE I WANTED IN THE WORLD than to snap back, "My God, you've still got that ratty old face?" But while baiting TIB into a snarling, spitting frenzy can be highly entertaining in a mean-spirited way, the fallout from a TIB explosion drifts like ashes onto everyone in the family, so I keep my mouth shut.