The one thing we probably all dread most about Thanksgiving is the office party. The gossip from last year's scandal-fest has barely died down and already it's time for big bowls of Thanksgiving punch balanced on the copier and the soused secretary leading off-key songs in her tacky Thanksgiving earrings. Everybody waits til the last minute to come up with a good Thanksgiving costume. Many are tired of the divisive arguments over whether Thanksgiving deserves a mandated day off. Couples feel the pressure to get the right Thanksgiving gifts for each other -- are flowers and chocolate or a tasteful sweater enough, or is it time for jewelry? Singles face the confetti-strewn anxiety of midnight on Thanksgiving, left to wonder if no kiss when the clock turns means they'll be alone til Thanksgiving comes around again. There's the relentless increase of candles on your Thanksgiving cake, that oppressive reminder that you just keep getting older. The silly Thanksgiving-colored beer and pretzels. The pressure of keeping track of who you owe a Thanksgiving card, and who you can cross off the list because they didn't send one last year. Braving the icy sidewalks to sing Thanksgiving carols to neighbors who are bemused at best. Staying up late to hide Thanksgiving eggs for kids who could care less.

Of course, the worst thing about Thanksgiving is the commercialization. The merchandising that starts months before -- and earlier each year -- bombards you from the drugstore, the department stores, the dairy aisles. The Thanksgiving decorations on the street and in office buildings, even on tax-funded government property, and the Thanksgiving songs that are piped in everywhere and continue to ring in your head while you're trying to battle the pre-Thanksgiving crowds out of the mall parking lot, vowing again that *next* year you'll do your Thanksgiving shopping earlier. Thank God Thanksgiving comes only once a year.

Sandra Barron would never disparage Thanksgiving, yet she continues to deny the rumor that she's dating a pilgrim.