The whole family gathered together to celebrate the great day. Uncle George went on chatting about some useless facts. ‘Do you know that Montana is the biggest supplier of turkeys?’ He probably thought that my other uncles (1) were more interested in these things than in the football game on TV. They obviously were not. I personally (2) was trying to finish writing a story about ancient Greece for school. My uncle named every person who (3) signed the Treaty of Peace and Amity between US and Tripoli in 1805. All this was far from my own idea of Thanksgiving fun.
I (4) was sitting at my grandparents’ house. It (5) had just snowed, and the sunlight that (6) was pecking through the clouds re? ected off the clean snow on the porch. Overcome by boredom and the task dif? culty, I started (7) biting my nails. My mom was writing her annual Christmas cards. She (8) looked up from her occupation and said “Don’t do that. Go help Grandma in the kitchen.”
I (9) got up obediently, smiled at Uncle George when he (10) tried to tell me that the name Sebastian could be spelled in three different ways, and (11) gave an angry look to my grandpa, who (12) was sitting in his chair. Just of a sudden, I (13) smelled smoke and heard a shriek of surprise coming from the kitchen. I got there and found an item that looked like volcanic rock in the microwave.
“That was the turkey,” Aunt Mary (14) dictated to her video camera as she pointed it on the rock.
I wonder how I ever got stuck with this lunatic family?
“Did you know that Montana is the largest supplier of turkeys?” My uncle Dennis kept on chatting about other useless facts, thinking my other uncle would be more interested in him than in the football game on TV. As for me, I was trying to finish writing a story about ancient Egypt for school while listening to my uncle name every person who signed the Mozambique Peace Treaty of 1835. This was mot my idea of a fun Thanksgiving.
I sat with my mom at my grandparents’ house. It has just shown, and the little sunlight that peeked through the clouds reflected off the clean snow and the porch window. Overcome by writer’s block and boredom, I started biting my nails. My mom looked up from writing her annual letter. “Don’t do that. Go help grandma in the kitchen.”
I obediently got up, smiled at Uncle Dennis when he tried to tell me that the name Krystal could be spelled five different ways, and gave an extremely annoyed look to my grandpa, who sat in “his” chair. Suddenly, I smelled smoke and heard screams coming from the kitchen. I got there in time to find an item that looked like volcanic rock in the microwave.
“That was the stuffing...aunt Anne dictated to her video camera as she zoomed in on the “rock”.
How did I ever get stuck with this crazy family?