Thursday, November 26, 2009

Winchester's Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving, Winchester! You've been invited to sit at the Big Table with the grown-ups this year!

About time. I'm tired of that dinky old cardtable we're always stuck at.

Look how pretty it is! The Writer is using her favorite Friendly Village dishes, with the special silverware with inspiration words on the handles, like "Grow," "Dream," "Create"--

Is there a spoon that says "Chow Down?"

--and those are The Writer's husband's mother's goblets from the 1920s and the silver napkin rings belonged to The Writer's husband's grandmother. She decorated with vintage postcards and old photographs. There's a tintype of The Writer's stepfather's father . . .

Who cares about all those dead people? Where's the turkey?

There you go.

That's not the roast turkey I smell! This stuff is cold and slimy.

The big turkey is still in the oven. You're eating deli turkey.

Lunch meat on Thanksgiving Day?

Yeah, but it came from that uber tony grocery store, Wegman's.

Since when do you use words like uber and tony?

The Writer leaves Vanity Fair in the bathroom. Eat your turkey.

Do you mind? Nobody likes to be stared at while they dine.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

The Writer's Brand-New Website

Look! I'm the star of The Writer's new website!

You are not the star. You happen to be on the Home page, that's all.

Yeah? Well, I don't see any pictures of you on there. And I wrote the Welcome letter. Nyah!

My, aren't we mature? If you must know, The Writer asked me if I wanted to be on the website with her and I declined because I'm so modest.

Oh, puh-leeze. I'm gonna hurl. The truth is The Writer doesn't want her picture on the site, so took a photo of her hiding behind me--

Not hard to do.

--and the Webmaster guy actually colored her red sweater to make my eyes look greener!

The Writer's eyes look greener, too. The Writer designed the website with her Webmaster at Winding Oak.

Yeah, yeah. And look at the picture of me at the typewriter! The Webmaster guy fixed it so you can read the title page of my novel, The Great Catsby.

As I recall, you wrote exactly three words of that novel: Chapter One, The. Another wannabe writer.

You're just jealous. Don't you like my signature? It's so dashing, like me. Much better than that clumsy fake paw-tograph The Writer uses.

Winchester, can we talk about something besides you?

Sure. Enough about me. What do you think about me?