This year we are eating our thanksgiving meal at our country club. I can't help but feel a tinge of disappointment. There won't be the comfort of traditions or the familiarity of my own house. More importantly, there won't be my bed, calling me from upstairs for me to pass out in, while I'm completely intoxicated by tryptophan. None the less, I'm still excited to spend time with my sister who rarely comes home from Georgia and stuff my face with sweet potatoes and pecan pie
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