An email, in its entirety, from my old roommate Scott:

Just wanted to say Happy Thanksgiving! Eat like a pig!!!

Ooooh yeah. I staggered a little, walking to my apartment tonight, so distracted was I by the little animated roasted turkeys circling my skull like a greasy crown of deliciousness.

I have managed to wangle (yes, wangle) invitations to two Thanksgiving shindigs, and only have to bring “something green” and “my appetite”. Done and done!

I’m not terribly picky, but I do have a few ground rules.

1. It needs to be turkey, regular turkey. My mom would switch it up on occasion and serve up a roast beef or (bleah) ham. Not cool! I once went with a boyfriend to the east coast for Thanksgiving, and his hospitable family served up a home-smoked turkey. A nice thought, but it tasted just like (bleah) ham. And no stuffing. On our way home from the airport, without dropping off our bags, my boyfriend and I stopped at the store and picked up the fixings for a full turkey dinner. The right way.
2. I need stuffing (see #1). Nothing fancy, and please god, no chopped giblets.
3. Thanks for the awesome effort, but the can-shaped jellied cranberry sauce is just fine by me.
4. Something sweet for after.
5. And some booze.

Et voilà. In return, I will be the best guest and regale you with charming stories, help you clean up, and be very generous with the compliments. Have you been working out, sweet stuff? And is there any peach pie left?

nablopomo 07 day 20