8-Minute Gravy write-up

Over the river and through the woods....to a random church in Layton, Utah... where we will be celebrating Thanksgiving with obscure Henderson relatives. I know. How pathetic is that (notice there is no question mark at the end of this sentence; it's clearly a statement.). I mean, Isn't it an unofficial law that Thanksgiving be spent at a place that you love with people that are dear to you? But it's okay. Because Dad has informed us that these uncles and aunts we've never met are sure to be entertaining. So we kids stop slouching and mumbling, and try to nonchalantly say that maybe this won't be absolutely terrible. Well we enter the cultural hall and see our man: easily seven feet tall, donning green dress apparel from head to toe, and wearing a huge duck whistle around his neck. This man gets the attention of his children by blowing this ridiculous object, and the kids quickly perk up in response. And would you believe it? They, too, are Junior Explorers also sporting miniature whistles. His two gangly daughters proudly scamper to their father--making a point to puff up their chests to show off their strange instruments. My siblings and I just stared. This was bizarre. My goodness. We had never viewed anything so foreign. We simply exchanged occasional glances among each other, silently reflecting over how grateful we were that our parents let us be athletes and ballerinas instead of Junior Explorers. 

Being Blonde

Who decided to insult the entire population with the recessive blonde hair trait? He (for I'm quite certain that only a man could be so unfeeling to say such an offensive slur) probably has no idea how much grief he has caused. Does he know that because of his initial "blondes are dumb" comment, countless dumb blonde jokes plagued me during my childhood? I'm sure he doesn't know that in retaliation, my overly sensitive seven-year-old self made several unintentionally racist jokes towards my sisters with black hair. I could spew out more reasons why this man deserves to be severely pummeled, but I'm mortified to say that perhaps there is some merit to his argument. I, a through and through natural blonde, acted in a very "blonde" manner tonight, which I am very ashamed of. I'm ashamed that I acted in such a careless manner, but I dare say I'm more ashamed because I realize that I am living proof that such a stigma has some validity. Shame.

Yikes.

Good heavens. I haven't a clue how to blog. In fact, I don't think I have ever seriously followed one before. Unless they're chalked full of anecdotes and pictures of little kids--because I'm basically a sucker for "littles".  Back to topic: but yes, blogging might be an issue for me. What do I have to tell the world? Hmm. I've eaten cereal for a week straight because I'm poor and lazy? But I highly doubt that is worth any significance in even the most insignificant of lives. Man. How can I impact others if I can't even trust my own judgement during my daily struggle to select a pair of shoes to wear? Yikes.
We'll see. Perhaps all I need is a little inspiration. Or perhaps just a lot. A lot of inspiration.