The day before Thanksgiving, The New York Times ran a collection of reader comments on their worst T-day experiences.
Please settle in and let Elextra tell you her tale of woe:
I went to my mother’s house for dinner (she was a professional caterer and an excellent cook). She never liked me; she was very jealous of my media and modeling career, as was most of my family. They’d called me the “Queen Bee” when I’d come to visit.
I would take it in stride but this Thanksgiving I was sitting at the extended table in the family room, my uncle’s wife across from me. She looked at me and said, “Every time you come into a room you always make me feel so ugly and insignificant.” I think I had had it and I replied, “maybe if you went on a diet and lost 50 pounds, visited a dermatologist for your severe acne and had plastic surgery, you’d feel better about yourself, and stop targeting people who have nothing to do with your insecurities.”
Needless to say, my mother asked me to leave for insulting her “guests.” I did, and visited friends who had invited me to join them for Thanksgiving. The food was awful but the welcome was delicious. —Elextra
The food was awful? No, actually, your friends were trying to poison you, and I wish them better luck at Christmas.