I'm sitting here with my feet up in a quiet flat, enjoying a latte while I wait for Mr. Ocado.com to deliver my groceries. My mind is appreciating this luxury after my mad day yesterday, which included a trip to IKEA and picking my children up for school after they played in the garden in the rain for an hour - head to toe mud and Quinton telling me he had to go potty. Joy to the world. So, everyone has been asking me what our plans are for Thanksgiving, since of course the Brits do not celebrate. I have been smoothly and casually non-committal. I thought we could, perhaps, sort of skip it. Not ignore it of course, but rather go out to a fun restaurant, talk about what we're thankful for, you know...something simpler. But alas, the week of the holiday is here and I have a confession. I need the bird. Maybe not a turkey, but at least a roast chicken. And, above all else, some pumpkin pie (which is also Dan's favorite). I miss the cheesy turkey decorations coming home from school, it's just not right. We may have to make some. So I thought I would give myself a break, but I just know that on Thursday I will trudge into Crouch End, probably in the rain, haul armfuls of heavy groceries home on the bus, and after picking the boys up for school I will spend the afternoon making a mix of Thanksgiving-like culinary treats. The mess that would have been avoided by going to a restaurant will run rampant through my kitchen, and my children will probably eat none of it. But Thanksgiving really does need to be at home, doesn't it? I'm going to hate myself Thursday evening. Damn. But we're Americans! Christmas won't come if we don't honor the bird. And, as my friend Steph would say, I am a serious holiday enthusiast when it comes to Christmas.
Which brings me to my next nonsense of the morning. For Christmas, please send the softest toilet paper you can find. Why, oh why, do the British not have soft toilet paper? Do they not know about it? I have tried every grocery store, including the posh ones, and every brand. Even Charmin....and how dare they.....the Charmin here is a serious impost0r to the real deal. They seem to translate "softer" as "thicker." Granted, thicker is a bit better, but not much if it feels like our line-dried towels! The Brits also love the color of their toilet tissue - every variety comes in a range of shades. Again, why does this matter if it feels the way it does? I would happily display neon green if it were only soft. Of course the men in my life don't care about this - them and their convenient penises. Apparently their sweet little bums don't care. I have finally settled on some quilted business that will have to do. Maybe we Americans do some horrible toxic processing to our tissue to make it feel so soft, and I should just shut up about the whole business.