My best "that's what she said" or It's your belt that's supposed to buckle, not your chair

Since I can’t write a research paper about Marina Warner’s use of Romanticism to empower the unheard voices of women in Shakespeare’s The Tempest (still awake? that makes one of us…) I have decided to write here instead. 

I love Thanksgiving. I love the buzzing, bustling, flustered, red faced cooks clucking in the kitchen, knocking elbows and spilling and basting and stirring and dicing. I love the masses of cousins and babies and toddlers tumbling around the backyard, tripping over each other to get to “base” before the seeker tags them. I love the yelling and hugging and reuniting and the permanent smiles that everyone seems to have plastered onto their faces, whether they know it or not because they’re so completely happy. I love the noise, and the Macy’s Day Parade in the background, I love the sounds of everyone catching up and telling stories, desperately trying to get every detail in because it’s so good to have someone listen for once. I love family. I love how big my family is.

I love pie. My God, I love pie. I want to live in a pie. I want to die eating a pie. If I am ever excecuted, I want to be baked into a pie. PIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. 

I’m sweating pie. Cranberry Apple. My aunt decided to pull a “Brangelina” and call it “Crapple Pie” but thank goodness I was there to advise her against it. 

I love the feeling of being so so so full and warm and tired and how delicious it is to finally crawl between the sheets and fall into the best sleep of your life. 

And waking up to a billion people that do nothing but love you. 

Thanksgiving is such the best. 

Got yelled at for eating the crunchy French Onion crust off the top of the Green Bean Casserole. Got yelled at for eating a hole out of the pumpkin pie and filling the hole with whipped cream. I’m four, whatever. Now you have more fridge space. Ingrates. 

This dumb baby wanted me to pick him up while I was eating pie. I tried to toss him some of the crust to make him go away but it just kind of bounced off. I hope no one saw me. I think that would be awful to witness if the viewer wasn’t aware of just how much I love crapple pie. 

Some of my nerdier cousins wanted to watch Star Wars: A New Hope and I got my BEST THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID. EVER. Two in one night. My first one I had used before, but none of these people were there. 

Young Sarah was drinking gatorade and said ‘Is it in you?’ reading the label. TTWS#1

However, during Star Wars, which I wasn’t watching, I overheard parts and one was “You came in that thing? You’re braver than I thought.”

TTWS. HAHAHA. I’m still laughing. Oh my.

They say when you’re fluent in a language, you dream in it. I think I’m fluent in Harry Potter. No complaints here. If I can’t live it, I can dream it. Sigh. 

I would most definitely be a Slytherin. Sad to say, or a Ravenclaw. 

Do you know what I love? The sound of keys. Not the jangly hipster janitor keys. Keyboard keys, typewriter keys. The machine gun barrage click click click incessantly pounding in my ears and nothing else. I love not knowing what I’m typing at all. Not having the slightest idea but the intense feeling of something flowing through inside me and out of my fingers and knowing it means something. It’s like a swelling, like a pressure, it’s like pouring something overflowing into a vat. And then when I’m done and I read it, I know exactly what I need. It feels like breathing. I love that too. 

Another thing I love is watching people sleep. Creepy? Very much. But hear me out, when people sleep they are so unguarded and vulnerable and gentle. They breathe slower and no matter what horrible turmoils they might be facing, for those few hours those troubles fade away. Sleep is so universal and so soft and gentle and quiet. 

I’m creepy. 

Sleepers are cute. 

Pretty sure every candid family picture of me from T’giving 2010 has me eating. 

Pretty sure every posed family picture of me from T’giving 2010 has me eating.

Pretty sure I’m still eating. Right now.

My metabolism is something I am SO thankful for. 

Also J.K. Rowling.

And toothpaste.

And YOU! 

Did you read the incessant ramblings of a silly little procrastinating lady? 

You need something to do more than me.

I suggest you do my paper. 

Love always,
Uzma Chowdhury, esquire.