Day 8: I Did Not Spend Thanksgiving In My Bathrobe

by pjmcbride

…I dressed up (cocktail ring encrusted with opals and a paisley shirt from the mid-70’s, made of magical polyester that’s equally uncomfortable in any weather) to go to the $ General, because we needed toilet paper.

Speaking of the calendar, there is a World Leader Edict in effect: Non-Catholics cannot put up Christmas decorations until the day after Thanksgiving. Catholics have to wait until Advent begins on Sunday. This evens out at the other end of the season, when Catholics have until Epiphany on January 6 to take stuff down–everyone else, out by New Year’s. Thank you.

I had THE BEST THANKSGIVING DINNER EVER CREATED. After creating it, Rom did the dishes while I ate, and he picked at the food while still standing up. You know, you don’t hafta live like a refugee. (DISCLAIMER: THE PREVIOUS IS A SMART REMARK COURTESY OF TOM PETTY, NOT A POLITICAL STATEMENT OF ANY KIND.)

To tide me over this afternoon (since we eat dinner around the time I come home from work), I had beast stew, courtesy of Nick. Their meat is actually quite tasty, once the scales are removed. NICK, IT WAS JUST A SMART REMARK, STOP WAILING!

He tries to wedge himself under my couch, but only the head will fit, and only by folding his ears flat. “Get out of there,” I say, in my best beast-controller voice. I’m sure he’ll eat any cat toys he finds under there. Esmerelda is sure he’ll eat any cats he finds, too, and stays safely in the bedroom.

“No,” he says, in a muffled sort of way. “I don’t want you to see me cry.”

“I don’t think you can cry.”
I get up and try to pull him out by the tail. Of course, that only makes him dig his claws into the carpet and growl. I’m tempted to swat him on the rump, but don’t want to hurt my hand. The only alternative is to spoil him further (seems like that’s always how it ends up), so I unwrap the bread Rom made and toss him a chunk. Naturally, he hears it, retracts himself from the couch and snaps it up in one fluid motion.

“That bread goes great with beast stew, you know,” I observe. He glares at me, then crouches for a spring…

WE INTERRUPT THIS DRAMATIC MOMENT FOR A WORD FOR OUR SPONSORS

{I’m using the editorial “we,” since I act as my own editor. And it shows.}

I would like to thank the people who expressed their appreciation for S.G.’s new daily format. I couldn’t do it without you. Well, technically I could (I think–does WordPress throw out bloggers who don’t have any readers?), but it would be pathetic and sad.

AND I ALMOST FORGOT…

S.G’S 8TH POST, 3/21/13: Crisis in Progress: Location, Location, Location!

–I lecture you on telling us where you are when you call 911. That is still necessary, in case you thought there’s been a technological advance since then that spares you the trouble.

–A caller says that someone needs to be “cemented.” He meant “committed.” I think. Maybe he was a Mafia guy who wanted us to do his dirty work for him. DIRTY DEEDS, DONE DIRT CHEAP. I said “dirt cheap,” not “free.”

–Lisa is called A Certain Person for the first time, because she impersonated me on Facebook.

 

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