Talking Turkey

I have plenty to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. Two healthy boys, a loving husband, an invitation to go somewhere that is not my house, and a widespread reputation for being so chronically inept in the kitchen that people BEG me not to cook.

"What time do you want us to come over?"
"Oh, say around two-ish?"
"Can I bring anything?"
"NO! GOD, NO! PLEASE! Ahem, I mean, just bring yourself and your duffel bag of wine, and that would be great. We're all set here, thanks!"

I've always liked Thanksgiving. I find the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade utterly  hypnotic. A feast for the eyes, if you will. I'll just sit there sipping coffee for three hours, staring at the TV, imagining the conversations that took place in the staging area before the floats went out.

"Michael, do you think this rouge is too much?"
"Not at all Danny, the cameras will just wash you right out. Those lederhosen are seriously adorable on you by the way."
"Seriously?"
"To die for. Do these elf shoes make my legs look stumpy?"
"Not at all! They accentuate the shapeliness of your thighs."
"Oh stop!"
"No you stop!"
"No, silly, you st--!"
"Oh. My. God. Is that ... BRITNEY SPEARS???"
"Ohmygod, stop! WHERE?"
"Standing next to Willard Scott ..."
"I thought he died last year ..."

Good times.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

--Amanda