Thanksgiving has come and gone. We mourn the turkeys lost and are finally getting over those hangovers after a long night of drinking to make it through the endless cycle of “how is school” and “do you have a boyfriend?” As promised in “Transitioning to the Adult Table,” I have written a review on the Adult Table and my experience.
It was true, this was my year. Two of my older cousins didn’t come to Thanksgiving this year because they have girlfriends who have families or something weird like that and I finally got my long awaited promotion by proxy. I took my new, cushioned seat at the adult table with pride and waited for the caviar and champagne.
It never came.
Boy did I get it wrong.
The adult table sucks! The best part was the food, no lie about that. It was still warm and ready to be eaten, but as it turns out, the adults don’t even eat it first, they were too busy piling food onto plates to send down to the kids’ table. Everything I know is a lie.
They talked about doctors appointments and car payments. They paid me little attention unless it was to ask me something from the “I’m Crossing My Fingers that They Don’t Ask Me That” list. All about my grades and my non-existent boyfriend. It became a drinking game by the third go-round.
They didn’t care about the Eurozone, I was shocked, apparently that’s not appropriate family dinner conversation. The only European thing that my grandpa cared about was the fact that he thinks I’m going to die when I move to London. No joke, he suggested that I get a life insurance policy before I leave. At the dinner table. Besides that, all we talked about were old people problems, insurance and loan payments.
I am hereby motioning that all family events from now on include an in-between table. I’m not that much of an adult that I care about going to the eye doctor, foot doctor, and boob doctor all in the same week or feel the dying need to answer the same question to 12 different people, 12 different times because they forgot to turn up their hearing aids. But I’m also not enough of a kid to want to hear about the Disney channel or have food thrown at me.
I want an in-between table, even if it’s just me, sitting with a TV tray, eating by myself. At least I won’t ask myself annoying questions or get covered in food unless by accident. The in-between table will be a safe zone for 20-somethings that are semi-responsible for some things in their lives but are not ready for actual, full blown, life insurance policy paying adulthood. The in-between table will be free from questions about future life plans and free of flying food. The in-between table will be a true paradise.