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Thanksgiving at the Brewsters


Dear Mei Ling:

We don't know how you became a self-righteous, left-wing vegan
bigot so soon. At one week you spurned your mother's milk. At
two months, you spat out a mouthful of congee that had a hint of
sardine oil in it. At one year, you declared your independence
from all flesh. At two, you broke your brother's nose for killing a
cockroach, then invited an army of fire ants into your room and
called them your sisters.

It's bad enough that we have to endure your bad habits daily, but
must we be embarrassed in front of others as well?

We're used to your taking the shrimp out of the shrimp
dumplings and eating only the skins. Picking off all the chicken
pieces in the fried rice and feeding them to Mittens. But, we were
shocked at your latest behavior (and mind you, we will report
this to your developmental psychologist). Last Thursday at
Grampy Brewster's you covered the turkey with your napkin
and said it looked like a burnt Baby Jesus!

Then, you stripped naked to your nappies, raised your milk
bottle, and swore to avenge the vanished Wampanoags. I hope
you're satisfied now, young lady, for ruining a perfect family
Thanksgiving!

Remember your holy-moly vegetarian auntie who lived near
Vulture Peak and led a chaste life taking care of girl orphans?

Did she die of a spiritual old age? No! She was hit by a bus during
a peace rally in Lhasa and died of a brain hemorrhage.


Marilyn Chin

Prairie Schooner

Fall 2012


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