Fugitive Firefly

Running away with the last bit of hope

Thanksgiving Kid

We were all packed in the car, ready to go to the Holiday Inn for our Thanksgiving dinner. Why we never have a home-cooked meal is beyond me, but whatever, it's their tradition. We get there a little early and, after having to endure much of my uncle's whining, we were seated. The waiter comes by some time later, asking how many seniors we had. He was polite and guessed two; my Aunt held up her fingers for "three."

He looked around the table, notepad in hand "so that's three seniors and...one child?" Before I could protest, I got a swift kick from beneath the table, my aunt speaking before I had the chance to. "Yes, three seniors and one child."

I shot her a look once he left. "I hope you're not too offended," she said.
"That depends. What's the cut off to be considered a child?"
"Oh don't worry about it. They go by rations, not by actual age.

I'm not entirely sure how much truth was in her words but how could one not be offended? I'm 20-years old and people still mistake me for someone quite younger. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if the waiter wasn't younger than me. . . .