It’s okay to be grateful for these things, isn’t it? – Daley Freeman

I would love to revolutionize your Thanksgiving speeches, but I must admit that the blessings for which I am grateful are embarrassingly common.

I mean, I’m grateful for weekends, for kids, for walks in the rain, for comfy couches, for random acts of kindness, for the fact that I pay so little attention at work, I’m forever freed from having to sign a non-disclosure agreement…

I am grateful that Abraham’s descendants are fortunate to be as numerous as the stars in the sky and the grains of sand on the seashore, although they lack the number of artificial ingredients in a box of breakfast cereal.

I’m grateful that the pace of vote counting in some states provides an ideal strategy for dieters. (“Wow! Turns out the combo meal I ate last Tuesday had 2,000 calories! I’ll have to take that into account next Thursday when I find out how many calories are in that package of chocolate fountain!”)

I’m grateful that my taste buds can handle sour grapes. This makes it easier when my smartphone camera says, “Memory full!” just when I’m about to take some once in a lifetime photo. (“Ah, who wants a photo of Bigfoot hiding John Lennon’s lost tape on Amelia Earhart’s plane?”)

I’m grateful that – if there is any justice in the world – all those fashion designers who refuse to standardize sizes and fits will someday find themselves not quite fitting into their coffins or urns.

I’m grateful that I can still simulate detecting the difference between 500 variations of (weak) scented candles. (“Ah yes – Buttcheeks & Boysenberry! I will enjoy this experience until the day I die! You might like something I call the Eau de Exertion of Just Turning The %$#@ Lamp. Wait, there’s more! I’m also promoting a new game called “What disgusting smell is Debbie trying to cover up?”)

I’m grateful that if you smile, the world smiles with you – although not necessarily at the same time and not without sneezing, half-closed eyes and devil horns.

I’m grateful that I will one day be as famous as Robert Oppenheimer as my kitchen junk drawer finally approaches critical mass.

I’m grateful that people tolerate my inability to remember names, but let’s be honest: most people don’t have names that memorable to begin with. You can ask (let me check out my list here) my mechanic Brad Pitt, my accountant Babe Ruth and my neighbor John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.

I’m grateful that there is a pause in the cases of bigots trying to “shove their ideas down your throat.” Of course, the preliminary plan to infect you with your opinion through a patch is in itself alarming. (“No, wait. Better yet: now you can scan this QR code and all your beliefs will be ridiculed to the core!”)

I’m grateful to find teachable moments in life, although sometimes I’m less inclined to impart my years of wisdom than to announce, “Hey, go into your grandparents’ closet and have a ’70s dress-up day!”

Don’t take things for granted this Thanksgiving. Show some respect.

In the words of Patriarch Isaac, “Hey Dad, next time you want to try a burnt offering, may I suggest a box of fruity pebbles instead?”