This smile plastered on my face does not say, “Help! I am dead inside!” It says, “I am filled with gratitude on this Thanksgiving Day.”

Being inflated into a soulless, bloated, blubbery blimp and forced to glide through the streets of New York city in front of thousands of spectators is not humiliating. It is inspiring.

Pikachu looks marvelous floating in front of me on his Poke Ball-inspired sleigh. That does not mean that I look any less marvelous. He and I can both look marvelous at the same time. His marvelousness does not take away from my marvelousness.

As I catch a glimpse of my reflection in these Manhattan store windows, I do not immediately think that my beached-whale pose is mortifying. I think it is “Superman-y.”

My dead eyes do not say, “Someone help me! I’ve been the Pillsbury mascot for 57 years and I’m so done with baking, but management won’t let me retire!” They say, “Today is going to be a phenomenal day.”

I have made baking mistakes, but I will not let them define me. Needless to say, they are nothing like the horrors on “Nailed It.”

Management can tell me, “There’s no way you’re going on vacation! You’re gonna get poked in your belly and you’re gonna say ‘Hoo-hoo’ and you’re gonna like it!” And I will forgive them, for my doughy self shall literally rise above the insults that would otherwise crush my soul.

As the powerful winds pound me in the face and thrust me against traffic lights, trees, and buildings, I am not thinking, “Oh the injustice! What did I do to deserve this disrespect?!” I am really thinking, “I have arrived, and I am an unstoppable force of nature!”

I am not jealous of the fact that Snoopy gets to wear a fun astronaut suit today. I am not jealous of any of the other balloons that get to wear fun outfits today. Their outfits should be celebrated, and so should my bloated, doughy, pasty, naked body.

As I float past the hotdog-stand man in Central Park, I am not thinking, “Help me, hotdog-cart man! Please! Management locks me up in a kitchen and never lets me travel! I just want to go to Hawaii! I hate my life!” I am really thinking, “My soul shines from the inside and brings joy to others.”

I do not need a butt-crack. So many of the other balloons at this parade have butt cracks. Ronald McDonald has one. Smokey Bear has one. I’m pretty sure Baby Yoda has one. But I do not believe that possessing a butt-crack has improved their lives. Have I been curious about having one? Perhaps I have, but that is neither here nor there. I can affirmatively say that I do not need one, because I accept myself exactly as I am. End of story.

I do not think that the pigeons shitting all over my face today deserve to be shot dead, because I only have happy thoughts.

As the crowd cheers me on, I am not thinking, “You jerks! I know you’re all gonna talk shit about me the next time you go on a low-carb diet!” I am really thinking, “I am a beacon of light for the masses.”

I am not envious of Stuart the Minion because of the tremendous applause he receives every year at this parade. Sure, he only speaks gibberish and looks like a tater tot in overalls, but he deserves love, respect, and admiration too.

As I float towards Macy’s on Herald Square and reach the end of the parade, I am grateful for these positive thoughts, for my career, for the opportunity to inspire others through my craft, and for the love of God, can nobody see the dread in my eyes?! For the last time, somebody help me! They make me work 150 hours a week, naked and chained to an oven, wearing only this stupid hat and neckerchief! It’s degrading!

Someone save me from this indignity! Heeeelp!