A Taste of Thanksgiving Cheer

Eleanor adjusted her spectacles, which did little to filter the relentless cheer bouncing off the tinsel-strewn walls of Aunt Carol’s dining room. “Isn’t it simply *divine*?” Aunt Susan trilled, gesturing with a gravy ladle towards a pan on the buffet. It was a casserole. A casserole that had clearly spent a good thirty minutes beyond its prime, resembling a petrified bog rather than a side dish.

Eleanor offered a thin smile. “A bold choice, Aunt Susan. I particularly admire the… *caramelization* on top. It suggests a certain dedication to deep, complex flavors.” Aunt Susan beamed, mistaking Eleanor’s thinly veiled horror for genuine praise.

Later, Eleanor found herself cornered by Cousin Timmy, whose enthusiasm was inversely proportional to his age. “Look, Eleanor! My new painting!” he shrieked, thrusting a canvas smeared with what appeared to be the contents of a toddler’s finger-paint disaster zone at her face.

Eleanor recoiled slightly. “Oh, Timmy. Such… *unrestrained* expression. It really challenges the viewer to confront the very nature of form and composition. I especially appreciate the way you’ve managed to capture the raw, untamed essence of… well, of *something*.” Timmy, swelling with pride, skipped off to show Uncle Gary.

As dessert approached, Uncle Bob launched into a detailed monologue about the imminent collapse of the global economy, illustrated with gestures that threatened to send a slice of pumpkin pie flying. “It’s all going to pieces, Eleanor, I tell ya! Pieces!”

Eleanor sighed, dabbing a crumb from her lip. “Ah, Uncle Bob. Always the optimist. It’s truly refreshing to hear such a *nuanced* and *uplifting* perspective on the state of the world. One might almost say you have a knack for finding the silver lining… if that silver lining were, perhaps, a very large, impending asteroid.”

A moment of silence descended, broken only by the clinking of a fork. Uncle Bob blinked, then nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. “An asteroid, you say? Hmm. That *is* a new angle.” Eleanor just took another bite of pie, a small, victorious smirk playing on her lips. Sometimes, the most cutting remarks were the ones that sailed right over their intended targets, leaving only a lingering sense of vague approval.