I hereby announce a class-action lawsuit to force the Mall of America to open on Thanksgiving. Who’s with me?
Good! Yes. This must be nipped in the bud, friends. If the mall can close on Thanksgiving, then gas stations will realize that they can close between 4 and 11, and what if you need milk? If this continues, I see a crazy dystopian future, where you can’t even go to an outdoor Redbox and rent a movie for the evening because the screen will say, “Why don’t you try talking with your family tonight for once?”
Come on. Other than the three stores that have announced they will be open, the whole mall could open at 4 p.m. This would give the workers time to have a meal, just no seconds on pie. We’d be outside at 3:59, faces pressed up against the window like “Walking Dead” zombies, pawing the glass. “I know you have sweaters in there at 80 percent off. Don’t make me get a brick.”
This will only get worse. Soon Amazon will just display a video of a burning log between noon and 10 p.m.
What will we do instead of shopping? We will have to spend time with our families.
Here are some helpful tips for doing that:
• After the table’s been cleared, everyone is leaning back with their belts undone and the only sound is the occasional ping! of a shirt button bouncing off the ceiling, clear your throat and say, “Well! How does everyone feel about that election, then?” You will learn fascinating things. If you have small children, lean over and whisper, “This is why Uncle Horace won’t come to your wedding in 2030. Because Daddy aided and abetted evil.”
• Play a game. It’s a great night for charades! It’s easy: one person says, “What’s my charade?” Everyone has to guess, until someone says, “Happily married successful financial planner whose calm exterior masks a life of desperation, because he’s been moving money from one client to the other to mask gambling losses.”
• Interview old relatives. I still remember what Dad said in 2015: “Didn’t you ask me last year? I told you all about the war into your phone.” Yeah, but I dropped it and it broke. Could you do it again? Something something Korea, right?
Even if you didn’t lose the audio, you can compare this year’s telling with previous versions and note the inconsistencies. “Ahem: I think you mean the shelling began at dusk, not midnight. Let’s not gild the lily, old man.”
• Try to keep the teens home. After the dishes are cleared, the youngsters feel justified in leaving to see a movie because they sat there for an hour next to Uncle Marty, and when he eats it sounds like he’s moving 20 oysters from one side of his mouth to the other. They mutter a quick farewell and bound outside to their friend’s car.
Before they escape, say, “Hold up. You’re skipping one of the last holidays you’ll have at home. You’re going to a big dark barn to watch a forgettable movie with some guys you’ll lose touch with in a few years. Stick around. Trust me.”
Then wave them goodnight and tell them to have a good time.
Like I say: It’s a good night for charades.