Dear Jake and Jenny,
I’m writing to inform you that I will be attending the Thanksgiving dinner. The invitation you sent to the computer was very bright. I also received it quite late. I assumed that tradition dictated my attendance, but I know how you young people like to change things up.
Nevertheless, I was pleased to receive my invitation (if that’s what you call a dancing cartoon sent to a computer…). I have decided against texting as you suggest. I trust that the United States Postal Service will deliver my R.S.V.P., as they have been delivering mail to all American citizens since 1775.
Whilst I was looking at the “invitation,” on the computer, I took the opportunity to peruse the Facebooks. Your Facebook, Jenny, is quite radical. I see you’ve put up many articles about giving things up. Downsizing. Wanting “experiences.”
I, myself, am an experience. And I’ve had experience! Let me tell you, the situations I’ve been thrown into in my lifetime have given me fortitude. Strength. Longevity. I’ve been in a stew (quite a few!). I’ve been canned. Some people have caused me to be sweet as pie, while others left me sour as vinegar. Of course, the best times were with a jigger of bourbon!
And yes, I’ve been known to be tart a time or two. But that’s just who I am. I don’t apologize for that. In my opinion, people need a little tartness these days. A little truth. Swallow the tart with the sweet, that’s what I say! The sweet and tart together; that’s what makes a true life experience.
If the other guests don’t “prefer” me,” that’s just tough. Thanksgiving dinner wouldn’t be the same without me. Sure, another addition might be more “modern,” more “healthy,” more “trendy.” But you know as well as I do that I have to be there.
I’m tradition.
Regards,
The Cranberry Sauce
