I walk into my aunt's house and am greeted by the smell ofwarm vanilla. A table is covered with pumpkin pies, apple pies, cider and sugarcookies. I make my way to the kitchen where aunts and cousins are preparingThanksgiving dinner. As I'm about to hug all my loved ones, a scream sharper thana carving knife pierces the air - my brother has thrown my cousin's doll into thefire "accidentally." Thanksgiving has begun!

I look around tosee many relatives I love, and some who, well, everyone has them. Of course, theyare the first to approach me. I'm not prepared to compare my grades, friends orlives to theirs right now, so I move on.

In the living room are "themen." They don't appreciate visits from women or children who aren't thereto bring food. Heaven forbid anyone disrupt "the game." I walk in tosay hello which, during the game, is like trying to nail Jell-O to a tree."Watch out!" one cries. "Can you get me a drink?" anotherasks. Welcome to Zombietown, USA. They'll liven up once they have all wonand lost their bets with each other and the food is served.

Outside, I seemy 18-year-old cousin walking around in a bathrobe in the 30-degree weather. Hewas outside with my brothers and wanted to show them how to set off a stink bomb.Apparently someone cracked the glass vile, poured the juice on his pants, andlocked him outside. My brothers swear, "I dunno, he, like, went crazy and,like, poured it on himself and was like, 'Lock me out ...'" Obviously theywere innocent. I let him in after everyone had their laugh. Even "themen" got up to see this one.

In the play room I find the littlekids and my grandmother. Nana thought it would be fun to dress the little boyslike little girls with my cousin's dress-up clothes. I decide the smartest planof action is to get out before this was my fault.

On my way back to thekitchen I see the crazy cousins we like to call Prunella and Drusella. Pru isdoing sit-ups while eating pie, and Dru is planning how to spend her caloriesthis Thanksgiving. We talk briefly, until cousin Pru decides it would be fun todo the Macarena, in our bras, in front of the family. Now, even though it's agreat idea that I'm sure was well thought out, I decline politely and run likethe devil back to the kitchen.

Dinner. Finally. We all sit down to eat andeveryone makes their toasts. Some are tasteful, as in "For the manyblessings of family and friends." Some are, um, personal: "I'm glad thewart on my toe fell off."

We eat more food than we can hold, andadhering to tradition, not a single pair of pants remains buttoned. Except for mylittle cousin, who thinks it makes more sense to get his kiddie scissors andalter his pants, cutting the side right out. After that masterpiece he cuts theright side of his sister's hair off.

Although it is not the most, let'ssay, picturesque Thanksgiving, I am thankful that it is mine. Now come on, whoreally would rather smell nutmeg wafting through the air when they could have thedelicate aroma of a stink bomb?