Thanksgiving is a time known for stuffing down turkey, devouring that pumpkin pie, and most of all, gathering all the family members around Grandma’s dining table for memorable conversations.
I managed to attend two Thanksgivings this year, a little down from my all time college-record of four, where I was invited to my best friend’s father’s Thanksgiving, her mother’s Thanksgiving, another friend’s aunt’s Thanksgiving, and my university staff’s Thanksgiving.
I’ve survived awkward dinner conversations, where I may have pushed my apparently controversial opinions a little far, debates about the value of journalism as a profession, wine tastings, jokes about eating a few too many breadsticks, the annual “which cousin will have babies first” bet (which I’m losing thankfully and thanks to a cousin’s recent engagement) and always come out with some extra stuffing to bring to work as leftovers the following day.
This Thanksgiving, my target was my youngest cousin.
Having recently graduated from hairdressing school, I’ve been trying to convince her to cut my hair for the past six months. I have targeted her on social media and through text message, through her father and through bribes (on top of actual payment) to cut it.
My hassle. She also works as a dispatcher for the BC Wildfire Service.
Is there nothing this fire season has not disrupted?
When my grandmother asked why my hair was so long, a question she asks my mother on a weekly basis, I was given a perfect opportunity to voice my (gleeful) frustration.
“Well it wouldn’t be, if I could just find a hairdresser,” I said, pitching my voice so my cousin could hear me.
There may have been some unpublishable words that came from the kitchen as my intended target realized who the comment was aimed at.
The effect, however, was immediate. I was booked for a hair appointment.
Turkey and new hair? What could be better!
I, unfortunately, have a bad habit of pushing jokes a little too far.
The next time it was my turn to tease around the dinner table wine, I directed a similar comment back at said cousin.
“Chop chop,” she threatened menacingly at me, above the turkey.
As my father pointed out, it’s perhaps a bad idea to tease the person in charge of your next haircut.
So… my appointment is scheduled for 5 p.m. on Wednesday.
If you notice someone around town next week with some funky green hair, well, let’s just hope it’s not me.