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.
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