Don’t get me wrong. I love being a Canadian. I dig living in a country where you can marry your same-sex spouse, celebrate with a snack of poutine and then head off to the ER where you can have a heart attack and not worry about how you’re going to pay for it.
But. There has always been a wee part of me that fantasizes about being an American. Everything in the USA is just *bigger*.
Bigger elections! Bigger celebrities! Bigger soft drink cups! (Seriously…you can swim in some of those 7-11 cups!)
And there is no other time of year that I wish I was American than the third week in November…AKA American Thanksgiving.
Canadian Thanksgiving is the second week in October. It is pretty lowkey. We spend our extra day off raking leaves and stacking firewood and then finish it off with some Butterball turkey and mashed potatoes.
American Thanksgiving is an *event*! Gigantic parades! Huge football games! A TV lineup littered with Holiday Specials!
And then what follows this epic day of festivities? Black Friday!
Ridiculously huge hoards of angry, sleepy, turkey stuffed people willing to draw blood if it means getting their grubby hands on a 42 inch flat screen for $100.
Humanity at its grossest, greediest and most consumptive.
I. Want. In.
No, no…not to stand in the sweaty, pushy lines. That is the last place me and my CMT body need to be.
Instead I want to get myself a tall hot chocolate and a warm cinnamon bun and take them to the most centrally located bench inside some random, gigantic American mall.
And give thanks for the ultimate in people watching. (And then probably decry the fact that not one store in the food court offers poutine).
Post inspired by the one, the only…MamaKat!