Thanksgiving 2005: Take Two

The thing with Indians is that we never want to stop celebrating. More importantly we don't want to be one upped by our friends and/or relatives in the hospitality department.

Tonight, my mom, her soon-to-be Jewish but born again boyfriend, and I went to Thanksgiving dinner at the home of one of the families that had spent thanksgiving at our home two days ago...sigh...yes, you read it right.

This time the brown kid coffee table turned card table comprised of three boys--the youngest a junior in high school--and two girls (me and a sophomore in college, incidentally the high schooler's sis and the hoster boy's cousin--the last boy was closest to my age and a friend of the hosting son). I was dealer to a game of Kent (aka Signal). The frenzy and acumen brought without stakes was impressive to say the least.

I was inundated with compliments by the old and the elderly for the adorable, flower, knit cap Tracey provided me last night during my brief visit with her. The uggs--though I object to their fashionata favor--kept me warm beyond belief...thanks, Trace--I know, next time I won't knock your style ideas before trying them. They are going to save me from frostbite in Prague in January.

We ate a delicious biriyani--hooray, no more turkey!--and an array of Indian delicacies followed by flan, chocolate cake, and Italian cookies. We keep it diverse at least in the dessert dept.

Just as we were departing my future stepfather found a way to embarrass me: he ambled in on Roop (the random Indian boy, who is incidentally the exact variety of Indian my grandparents would arrage for me--south-indian, christian--malayalee) networking me for the German bank connection. In paternal tradition, he drags my mom into the room under the guise that I was being proposed to by said Indian. The whole thing led to cackling adults and enormously awkward "kids" standing around. If any of our brown cheeks could strike color, we'd have been as pink as a family of Irish in Times Square on New Year's Eve.