Enough already with the wishing me a great holiday and (on Friday) "How was your Thanksgiving?"
Should I tell them the truth?
"Oh, it sucked, thanks. I didn't do a fucking thing except smoke eight cigars and walk around town — which was, of course, deserted. I had a turkey club on wheat for dinner — for that extra-special holiday touch I used cranberry sauce mixed up with mayo. The only football game worth watching was on the NFL Network, which I don't get, and I ironed a shitload of shirts. Any more questions?"
6 comments:
Heard you were moving to Iowa or something.
Idaho, and it's crossed my mind more than a few times. There is nothing keeping me here.
I frequently think of that photo of your Kennedyesque family playing a Thanksgiving touch football game in front of that fine Connecticut home. Does this count for nothing? Are all these pixels merely dust?
On the ultra-positive side (the one that I abhor), the cranberry and mayo does sound pretty good. Just don't move to Ketchum. Bad things happen to writers there.
What kind of cigars do you smoke? Padrons, Punch Rothschild here.
Holidays can be great times to just chill and do things ... like iron some shirts. Seriously. There is no glitter and glam to the events of the year-end season. We were sold these sparkly, warm images as kids, and now aspire to have Kodak moments that just can't be found in reality. Just keep flipping the channels and grab some well-deserved sleep. There are far worse things than boredom. Anyway, I'll STFU now. I have to shower and shave and get ready to eat food with people I see at EVERY DARN HOLIDAY, and really would love to avoid this year for all sorts of reasons. There. I said it. I just want to stay home and smoke cigars and read detective stories.
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