All I Want for Christmas is Some New Blue Jeans

How was y’all’s Thanksgiving?

Thankful?

Hopeful?

Complete with dys”fun”ctional family?

I hope it was fulfilling, no matter the form it came.

Not only was mine fulfilling, it was filling too. Having both sets of family living in town pretty much assures that I gorge myself on TWO atomic calorie bomb meals. And I’ve told y’all before, I’m not a quitter and I’m a card holding member of the “Clean Plate Club.” And after this Thanksgiving I just might have earned myself a new position in that club: CFF. (It doesn’t stand for Chief Financial Funder…read on)

After a lovely meal at my in-laws’/roommates’ house (more on that in a blog to follow) the whole fam migrated outside to do what families do. Toss a football, scratch bellies (of the dogs, people. What were y’all envisioning?), take group shots of the grandkids, the boys, the girls, the boys that go with the girls, and dance to the likes of Cardi B., Migos, and Beyoncé. (Y’all don’t do that? I feel sorry for y’all.)

I feel it’s my duty to show this side of the family just what I’m made of. I went to Albany High. I know things. And dance moves. And the lyrics to “Baby Got Back” which I’m doing my due diligence to pass down to the generation that follows. Traditions and family history are important to share. I take this responsibility seriously.

So after teaching all the young whipper snappers and the old toots, too, just how to exactly “Back that Thing Up” (Lawsy I’m glad videography wasn’t a thing back when Alan and I got hitched many years ago. I’d never win the presidency with that jewel of a dance/karaoke/white girl rapping performance at our reception floating around), I retired inside to veg before the next meal’s reservation.

After seeing snaps taken of me after the first meal, I decided a costume change was in order. The shirt I was wearing wasn’t doing its job of hiding muh sins. So I went with a slenderizing black sack shirt so that I could impress my side of the family next.

Arriving at Mamie’s house with a steaming pot of turnip greens (with roots, duh) like a good Southern niece (courtesy of a husband that can cook, praise be), I proceeded to make my impression on my people that knew and loved me first. And amazingly still do, mostly because of things like I’m about to tell you that I do.

My aunt grabs me with what I thought was an aggressive side hug (I love her too) and slides me through a hallway, past other eyeballs, and proceeds to turn me around as if to spank me. I probably was in debt to her for one. Seriously. But then, the strangest sensation occurs where the pocket of my jeans is supposed to connect to the denim fabric with stitches that should be strong enough to hold my fanny in, BUT I COULD FEEL HER FINGER THERE INSTEAD.

This is what she and every.single.other.person.at.the.turkey.dinner.and.they.weren’t.all.related.to.me saw. (And now YOU got the privilege to see it too. Y’all weren’t ready.) Praise the Lord for full coverage leopard print underwear (they matched my shoes because I’m cool like that).

So, I’m hoping your Thanksgiving was as fantastic as mine. I literally enacted the lyrics to Young MC’s best song ever: Bust a Move.

It goes a little something like this…

Next days function high class luncheon
Food is served and you’re stone-cold munchin’
Music comes on people start to dance
But then you ate so much you nearly split your pants

No “nearly” here. I told y’all I wasn’t a quitter.

(And probably won’t be the last time I show my @&$.)

CFF (Chief Fanny Flasher) Parrish out.

(BTW, what’s for dinner?)