There are even articles and chatter complaining about the people who share the things that make them thankful.
It’s not that I have a hard time writing about what I’m thankful for. Counting my blessings is pretty easy, as I have much in my life that I’m eternally grateful for.
But do people really want to read one more post about my adorable children or why I’m grateful for lipstick?
Whenever I’m stuck for an idea, I tend to ask, (more like beg), my family for ideas.
I’m pretty sure my husband was just having fun with me when he told me to write about being thankful I’m not a turkey. But since I’m always up for a challenge I figured, what the heck?
Turkeys are the main course of most Thanksgiving feasts. Now don’t get me wrong, I love being the center of attention, (after all I’m a blogger). The idea of having a host of articles and shows all about how to take care of me sounds really tempting. But we all know where all that attention leads to. That’s right, after everybody stands around and talks about how gorgeous you are, they carve you to pieces. No thanks.
Sure, I have the occasional fantasy about being a bird and flying off into the sunset free and unencumbered. I would have no homework to help with, no children telling me I’m ruining their lives because I made pasta for dinner, and one waking me up at 4:00 am requesting pancakes and bacon. Hold on Kathy, I can hear you saying right now, Turkeys may be birds, but they don’t fly. Well, I’m here to tell you you’re wrong. Wild turkeys can fly–they can go almost a mile without flapping their wings. Of course, a mile is probably only as far as I would get before I missed my little dears asking me for a hug. Hardly seems worth the effort of becoming a turkey when I can just go to Starbucks if ever I need a quick reprieve.
Turkeys do get to stuff themselves silly in order to get ready for their big day. Since I have been trying to lose my baby fat for eight years, the idea of being actually encouraged to eat all I want sounds pretty good. But, I must refer you to Reason 1, all that eating comes at a price. Yes, once you are the perfect size, they are just going to cook you. (Come to think of it, that is one more reason to continue to count those pesky Weight Watcher points!)
I’m 48. I only have a few more years before my neck starts looking like a turkey’s. I don’t need to rush anything,
I’m pretty sure that turkeys don’t blog. What would I do if I didn’t spend hours obsessing on what to write and hours playing, I mean working, on Facebook and Twitter promoting my site? Clean? Cook? What fun would that be?