What is it about cooking six hours a dinner that’s (effectively) over in 20 minutes?
I swear this will be the last year I do the dry-bird-on-a-fancy-platter routine. Of course, I swear every year this turkey will be my last.
Or my problem might be I’m not drunk enough yet. Which makes me wonder: how many cheerful family holidays are remembered through the rosy glow of a glass of port? I’m thinking more than a few.
Don’t bother pointing out I should be Thankful. I am, for more than a few graces, but being in a snit is really working for me right now.