Turkey
Pants!
My mother trained me to always eat everything off my plate. To this day, I chomp down every single grain of rice as if she could come in the door and check whether my plate is thoroughly cleaned. That, combined with age-related issues…
An aside: I’m not getting fat; I’m becoming more fuel-efficient!
Okay, where were we? Oh, I just can’t put away as much food as I used to. And it’s hard when you want to make sure Aunt Frannie sees how much you like the candied yams, or glazed ham, or biscuits, or whatever she brought to our gathering. Then, there’s the loooooong wait while the ladies scurry about the kitchen laboring intensively while we have to have either a remote control in our hands or some kind of food or beverage. What else is there? Talk?? Pah-leeeze! Talking is for ninnies! Gimme that remote and let’s pretend we can only communicate by grunting! What’s that?? Someone else already has the remote control? Aargh! What else is there to do but… eat. Oh, there’s all kinds of snacks, and if you’re nice, the iron chef competition might let you try a sample of what’s being prepared, but even if you have to grab a box of Alpha-Bits, get something! ‘Cause if you don’t, you will be forced into a conversation and man, that’s hard work! I’d almost rather be cooking!
If I could do whatever I wanted, I’d hibernate ‘till dinnertime. My wife only let me do that once, but it was great! We went to visit my parents, and Mrs. Craver stayed in one room chatting with my mom. They get along great; it’s so nice. Meanwhile, I went in the other room to be with my dad. There was a game on telelvision. We uttered the obligatory greetings and there may have been a comment about the weather or how the grass is growing, but our appreciation for each other grew by leaps and bounds, when he got comfy in his recliner and I kicked my feet up on the couch and soon we were both engrossed in a snoring competition. Aaaah, sweet fellowship. Mom and Mrs. Craver made fun of us, and thought we were silly, but that’s okay.
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