After Thanksgiving 

One week after Thanksgiving and I’m ravenous. My stomach, stretched to medicine-ball size, has not shrunk since the gorge-a-thon that took place at the compound last week. Just last night I finished off all the leftover mashed potatoes, almost an entire quart. But that wasn’t all. I smothered it in the leftover congealed gravy and threw on a couple of pats of butter for good measure. The corn bread is still moist and hasn’t molded yet, so a couple of squares are good to go for a midnight snack, again, saturated in butter. I’ve stayed away from the leftover yams, but the pies were gone by Saturday. Tonight we’ll make creamed turkey-stroganoffsumpin’ over pasta and try to finish off the green bean casserole. The yearly weeklong feast has resulted in another notch in my belt and lost ground from last year’s Atkins episodes.

We took the dog to get groomed on Friday out near the mall. Big mistake. Traffic was horrible and parking even worse. As a diversion I let the kids wander through Toys R Us to get an idea of what they might want for Christmas. If you ever want to see a good excuse for medicating children, just visit a Toys R Us the day after Thanksgiving. Actually, my spawn behaved rather admirably and didn’t even cry when we walked out of the store without spending a single dime. A word of warning though: Walking out of a Toys R Us on the biggest shopping day of the year, two kids in tow, without a single purchase may get you looked at as if you were an alien. Returning to the North End from consumer central took a cool 45 minutes. We tried not to venture forth again.

Four days in the house with the spawn was enough to drive us all raving mad. The only abuse I was able to conduct legally was destroying them playing video games. Virtual child abuse using video game weapons may still make them cry when you blow their ass away, but occasionally they’ll get their revenge. They’re sneaky little demons that way. When you least expect it they’ll run over you with a jeep. It’s humbling when a six-year-old kicks your butt on the Xbox.

I did manage to escape the mayhem for a few hours, though. Saturday I joined the neighbors for their annual tour of Idaho’s wineries. A sip here, a sip there, a sip in the car, a sip in the tasting room, sip sip sip. Ohhh, a winery snack. Cheese! How yummy. We returned to the casa to watch BSU smash Nevada, drink the spoils of our tour, and then roasted ourselves in the hot tub–nekkid of course. If you haven’t done that with the neighbors, you should. On the other hand, we probably learned more about the neighbors than neighbors should know, and vice-versa.


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