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Tuesday 15 November 2005

The Tesco who Stole Thanksgiving

I don't even trust myself to tell this story, because it is so very sad. Please, send the children out of the room and grab some tissues. You'll need them.

I must preface by explaining my unreasonable love for pumpkin pie. Every Thanksgiving I eat it--hot, cold, with a fork, like a pizza, whatever. I usually consume an average of 2 pies during the holiday season, which is why my Christmas presents consist of money to buy new pants.

One of the lovely American YSAs is throwing a Thanksgiving dinner at her house this week. I offered to make pies and my cheeseball. Because hey, everything is better with the cheeseball. I knew I would have to buy real pumpkins because they don't do the nice big cans of Libby's over here, but I was prepared for that. I figured that a pie made with fresh pumpkin would taste better and might help convince the Philistines over here that they should really get on the pumpkin pie train.

Only today I went to the largest supermarket they have in England, even Tesco, the great and abominable superstore that is singlehandedly destroying all the local producers, and was faced with a horrible shock--one which really should have occured to me earlier.

There are no pumpkins anymore.

I mean, it makes sense. Once Halloween is over, why would they keep carrying them? Only they should have THOUGHT about the part where Americans live here and we need our pie!!! So now there will be no pumpkin pie, and Thanksgiving is ruined. Also they probably don't have the real kind of frozen apple pie either, so I'll end up having to bring tarts or something twee and unAmerican like that. I think I'm going to go home now and eat the cheeseball with a large spoon, or possibly my finger. Then I'm going to lie down on the couch and sob, thinking of how my mom went to Costco yesterday and bought a pumpkin pie the size of a tire for $5.99 and how I'm not going to have any of it.

I'll check the other shops in town, but I know very well that nothing can be done. My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.

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