THE TURKEYS ARE HITTING THE GROUND LIKE SACKS OF WET CEMENT!

[phosfate]

Not entirely certain of how to get through a Buffython-free Thanksgiving (before that, X-Files-thon, before that, huge-ass Chicago conventions). Curled up with a pile of Doctor Who novels. *twitch*

Mom somehow managed to set the mashed potatoes on fire. I'll say that again: Mom somehow managed to set the mashed potatoes on fire. She rushed the pan out onto the patio before the fire alarm went off.

"I AM NEVER MAKING ANOTHER GODDAMNED HOLIDAY MEAL AGAIN!!!"

"Okay."

"At least you can't tell Susan I set the fire alarm off this time."

"It hardly seems necessary."

While we were eating, she told me the story of how, as a girl, she once ripped off her thumbnail while trying to shred cabbage to make her aunt's threshers'* cole slaw. They never found the thumbnail, but since neither she nor her aunt ate cole slaw, they didn't worry too much about it.

"It didn't bleed or anything, the nail just came off like this!" (gestures)

"I'm eating here!"

"We never did find it."

"Eating!!! Jesus Christ!"


*Threshers. The guys who came to a farm at harvest time and...harvested. They required enormous amounts of food.