THE SHAFT

Thanksgiving just passed and it highlighted probably the most consistent thing in my life and that is: getting The Shaft. Just one (more) self pitying post about how I always get screwed. Thanksgiving Shaft was the whole divvying up of leftovers. Apparently in some backwards way, I get nothing, since I am single and don't need to feed other mouths (except mine). So basically everyone (including my Mom who lives alone and claimed to be making a plate to take home but will give to my little brother who is making his own plate for him and his g/friend and because he's not quite fucking fat enough) got leftovers except me despite the fact that as a single person I should be subsisting SOLELY on people's charity leftovers, not left to starve on the street on THANKSGIVING! Below are some other ways I have gotten The Shaft.

Crappy ass public school education because my older brother got the "good" schools while we still had money to pay tuition

Always drawing the most obnoxiously large and clumsy gift/suitcase with no wheels/floral centerpiece/cut fruit arrangement despite living furthest away, being the smallest in size and having no car, than everyone else

Always having to sleep in the "cold" room at my mother's house because she "forgets you [I] am staying over and I put all the Christmas decorations in the other room". Believe it or not this excuse is the same in July, when the cold room becomes the stifling hot room and I'm sleeping in the backyard pretending I'm camping.

Always getting my Christmas presents last (or not at all in the case of 2 Christmas' ago, thanks very fucking much MOM!) because Christmas is all about the "babies" now (the babies which seem to also include my younger brother who is now 28). And my stocking is NEVER hung by the chimney with care, in fact, it's just not there at all!! Fuckers

Always getting the middle seat on airplanes when flying with my family because "you're the smallest". Never mind that I specifically noted AISLE FUCKING SEAT when purchasing my ticket.

And last but definitely NOT least: never celebrating my birthday because its 3 weeks after Christmas. If I hear one more goddamn time that that ugly cream colored ribbed turtleneck from the Gap that you seem to get me every year now, is for Christmas AND my birthday, I am going to fucking poison you, you old fucking bag, you. And please, let's stop with the fake "oh you come out here and we'll have your dinner" or "just tell us when you want to go out" because if celebrating birthdays with dinners or cake counted as years I'd still be young and not quite so bitter.

Merry fucking Christmas