Breaking the Thanksgiving `Mold

So while Wiggles was Lean Cuisining, Himself & I were busting our behinds putting together Thanksgiving for twelve, and in a galley kitchen. The good news is that Himself and I have gotten pretty adept at cooking this dinner, wings and all. Pancake was beside herself at the number of people streaming into her normally peaceful abode, but she was soon pacified by the smells coming from the kitchen, and was positively elated by the turkey I kept feeding her at my end of the table, aided and abetted by a 16-year old guest who announced to the table that “The Social Network” wasn’t really as good as everyone said, especially for the second half. I love a kid with an opinion.

Naturally, the best part of the affair was Bob and Jeanne, who blew in a little late, thanks to their traditional holiday call to 911. They were wearing matching sweatpant outfits, though it was Jeanne who got to model hers more, since Bob had to go directly to sleep after being picked up off the floor by his paramedic buddies. Jeanne also brought down the house with her Jell-o mold, which features, as Wiggles said, a layer of sour cream and suspended fruit. You don’t see that much anymore.

When some of the guests were leaving Bob got up and shuffled to the door (with a lot of assistance, natch, from Himself and some of our other friends). We all kept asking him where he was headed, but he would not be deterred. When he  got to the door I said, “Daddy, where are you going?” to which he replied, “I don’t know!” Poor guy, though he can annoy the hell out of you at the same time.

Himself and I were exhausted, to say nothing of Pancake, who licked everyone to death and then collapsed, with her little legs stuck straight out. I said to Himself, “For Christmas, my suggestion is you, me, some moo-goo gai pan and Pancake under the covers. See you then.”

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