Jeneration X: One Reluctant Adult's Attempt to Unarrest Her Arrested Development; Or, Why It's Never Too Late for Her Dumb Ass to Learn Why Froot Loops Are Not for Dinner by Jen Lancaster Read Free Book Online

Jewish wedding and tempering joy by flinging tiny bits of juice glass to the four corners of the kitchen.
    “Do you think the soup’s okay?” I ask. “Like, if we strained it?”
    She mournfully shakes her head. “Oh, honey, no. That juice glass didn’t just break; it detonated. That soup was a shopkeeper’s window and the glass was an SA storm trooper. That was Kristallnacht. Serve the soup to your guests and you’re going to kill them and their families will sue and then you’ll
really
hate this holiday.”
    All of which means if I want to serve soup tomorrow, I’ve got to go back to Whole Foods for more butternut squash. Tonight. The evening before Thanksgiving.
    The horror… the horror…

    We don’t have enough room at the big table for everyone, so I have to annex the table in the kitchen for the kids. Growing up, I was always stuck at the kids’ table and it sucked so I wanted to make sure this wasn’t the case for our young guests. I decorate the table with tons of candies and little games and flowers. I’ve made it so appealing that I kind of want to sit there.
    We ironed all the linens earlier in the week, and I started to set the table days ahead of time until I found cats sitting in the soup bowls. I chased them away thinking,
I wonder if Martha Stewart has to put up with this shit?
I had to unset and wash everything and we don’t redo it until this afternoon once we put the cats away.
    It’s five o’clock and the guests should begin to arrive any minute.
    After what feels like forty-eight hours of hard labor, I’m ready for this.
    Okay, fine, I have mashed potatoes in my hair, the sink isstacked to the ceiling with dishes, and Maisy just barfed up shrimp tails on the living room rug, but the liquor’s chilled and I’m happy.
    The next six hours are a blur of good food, great wine, and loosened belts. There’s football and Bond flicks playing on televisions throughout the house and although there’s a little shouting, it’s only so everyone can hear each other over all the laughter.
    There’s enough pie left over to send every family home with one, and, due to Stacey’s meticulous planning, we stocked up on GladWare so we could make sure everyone has leftovers on the day after Thanksgiving. Even though it takes us two days to finally get every dish washed and stored, the effort has been worth it.
    This Thanksgiving has been the best holiday ever and the beginning of a new set of traditions.
    The script has been flipped.
    Reluctant Adult Lesson Learned:
    Forgive the cliché, but friends are truly the family you choose.

C·H·A·P·T·E·R F·O·U·R
    Lucky Nineteen
    E ighteen places.
    Since I graduated from high school and moved out of my family’s house, I’ve lived eighteen different places. That means I’ve moved eighteen times in twenty-five years. Gypsies don’t move that much, nor do carnies, nomads, or Deadheads. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.
    That’s eighteen bedrooms.
    Eighteen bathrooms.
    Eighteen rounds of scouring stoves and wiping cabinets so I can get back my security deposit. No wonder I’ve had such a hard time trying to grow up. How the hell am I supposed to establish roots and mature when I move on to the next joint every 1.38 years? That’s barely enough time to have my magazine subscriptions forwarded!
    However, that’s all about to change because Fletch and I are planning to buy a home!
    For the past year and a half, our intention has been to buy the place we’ve been renting in the city because it’s nicely sized, it boasts lovely finishes, and is Stacey-adjacent. Also? We’re already here and the notion of boxing up all my shit one more time makes me weak in the knees.
    Of course, now that we’ve finally saved up enough for a down payment, we wonder if we really want to do business with our landlord. Our country’s stringent libel laws prevent me from coming right out and calling him the dirtbag I believe him to be, so I’ll share a few recent