"Really?" you might say. "It's wonderful. I'll pin it on my fridge or display it on my door."
Even though I'm only eight, it makes me smile because it's the right thing to do. But in reality, I expect it, because let's face it, I cut colored paper up like no one's business. And my turkey is better than anyone else's turkey.
Here's a news flash for you. Nothing has changed between those days and now. I see right through you so don't even hide.
If you're a writer...you're like me. You started by making perfect cut-out turkeys in your grade school class. That's how it starts. That's how you get indoctrinated into the system and told you're special. It's the other kids that ride the short bus.
Now that you're older, you drink chai or chocolate because either is the moniker of a sophisticated snob. But saying "chai" just makes you sound sophisticated. "Chocolate" doesn't have that effect. You can thank Halloween for that because people give it away free to kids who dress up as a cow. There's no prestige in cows. Gateway has it all wrong.
You should thank a billion people in India for that. There's no sophistication to drinking chai in India as people consume it while wearing rags and riding on top of the train instead of inside it. But here in America, Starbucks can charge you $4.00 for a 20 ounce cup. Did you ever bother to ask yourself what $4 could buy you in India?
|Liquid validation of your greatness.|
No. Because you're a sophisticated snob like me. A morning for you, dear writer, upon the expectation of someone reading your words and leaving a comment may cause you to 'dirty' yourself. The brisk winds of winter usher in that crucial moment where you stare at the sign and say, "Not the usual chai today. I'm getting the chai charger (code for dirty chai)." All because the fifteen minutes you spent primping your hair is now ruined. COULD THIS DAY GET ANY WORSE?!
"Really?" asks the helpful coffee barrista (I like that word. It sounds so much better than clerk). "That's so...daring."
"I'm enslaved by nanowrimo and still have to stuff my turkey. I need 'daring.' It's a no holds barred day."
"What's a nanowrimo?"
HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY ASK THAT?!
Wait. Calm yourself. This person doesn't get you. If the wind hadn't ruined your perfectly-coifed hair, you'd answer. "I'm writing a novel," you smile and say. And then you go to the restroom to fix your hair while annoying person makes your chai charger.
But maybe it's not as simple as a wonderful blend of cardamom, cinnamon, and cloves. Maybe what you really want is Tazo because (and let's be honest) it's the best and you only deserve the best. That's why you own an iPhone. Because Apple tells you it's the best with their commercials and commercials never lie. And as for that clerk! They'd better not skimp on the espresso or you'll mooch even more off their WiFi access!
Revenge is a chai best served cold and on ice cubes and in a cup made from recycled plastic. I think Shakespeare said that.
But, and God forbid, what if it's a peppermint mocha day. The combination of refreshing mint and sweet chocolate in a red cup that tells you, "Yes, it is indeed Christmas. Ho Ho Ho and all that, lass." Because let's face it. You're a narcissist and you wouldn't know the season unless your publicist told you what season it was. And you don't need to be rich to have a publicist. If you know where to slum, you can get one for thirty bucks who can spell your last name right half the time. But you get what you pay for, and that's America!
So from one writer to you (who I expect to read everything I write, who I expect to purchase my books and shower praise upon me with five stars) have a great Thanksgiving!
I'll be back on Monday. Until then, frequent your Starbucks, down your chai and chocolate, conquer your nanowrimo, and remember the mantra of every writer: "My colored paper turkey is better than yours, and you better post it on your sidebar, dammit!"
And maybe think of a blogfest or two that nobody needs.