I've had worse Thanksgivings in terms of company. Like the time my stepmother's oaf of a father utterly humiliated me in front of everyone and I walked out.
I've had worse Thanksgivings in terms of having to work. Or being on my own.
But I've never had such a bad one for food. I've never cooked or overseen the cooking of such a sad Thanksgiving dinner as we had. I tried, but my sinusitis meant I didn't feel like cooking or eating. I delegated the turkey to hubby. It was tough as a cowhide, but I don't blame hubby. I delegated the green bean casserole and sweet potatoes to daughter but had to go to bed so couldn't stand by and supervise. The beans were underdone, the sweet potatoes bland. I don't blame daughter. I made the stuffing myself -- too dry. And the apple pie. That was OK, but I was unhappy with the pastry. I didn't feel like drinking anything stronger than water.
And my poor dear friend L., whom I'd invited with her family, was at home grieving for her father who had died two nights before.
Which puts the horrible food in perspective.