Well, I’ve got enough L-tryptophan coursing through my blood to give half the Red Army narcolepsy (yes, I realize that there isn’t enough tryptophan in turkey meat to produce drowsiness — hyperbole is an honoured part of story-telling), but it sure seems like I’m the only drowsy person in North Texas.
When my legions of flying monkeys complete my Quest for World Domination, one of my first edicts is going to involve the aerial spraying of Prozac on the day after Thanksgiving.
I mock thee not, the Best Buy store in the nearest big city had their parking lot fill up a full four hours before the store was due to open. And there were folks doing laps hoping for a slot to open up. And you don’t even want to know what the mall parking lot looked like.
Great Googly-Moogly! Are the deals and sales really that good? Jolly well looks like a rugby scrum out there.
Thank Goddess for the Internet and gift cards. For us rabid introverts, it is nothing less than a blessing to be able to hit Amazon.com, Cabelas.com, BarnesandNoble.com and such-like from the comfort of a warm —quiet — computer nook, order various thoughtful things and have some other poor sod dare holiday traffic to bring my gift goodies to my door.
For those folks that I can’t find the perfect gift for, I plan on taking a deep breath and dashing through the crowds long enough to snatch up a hand-full of various gift cards — later. When things are a bit calmer.
No muss, no fuss. Well, not much anyway.
On the professional front, the critters did not let me down this Thanksgiving: Yes, Gentle Readers — someone showed up at the ER with a dinner fork impaled in some part of their anatomy. This makes, what? Three Thanksgivings in a row?
Another enterprising Young Gentleman attempted to set a World Critter Record for Most Charges Stemming From A Single Incident On Thanksgiving — he managed to wind up with 13 (thirteen) felonies and enthusiastic misdemeanors to begin his Holiday Season right properly.
13 doesn’t break the record, but it does tend to say volumes about the wisdom of snorting half-a-baggie of meth as a way to cope with your annoying brother-in-law.
Of course, as per usual, the local doors started developing hands and knuckles — co-incidentally enough at what would be cheek-high for the lady of the house.
Has, “He didn’t hit me; I walked into the door” ever worked?
Oh, and just as a minor point, if your entire family is going to lie to the Nice Officer about how your Mrs. wound up with that shiner, it might behoove you to settle on one solid lie before the afore-mentioned Nice Officer gets there.
Nothing guarantees an arrest quite like Nice Officer asking, “How’d she wind up with that black eye” and hearing:
“She walked into the door.”
“She fell down the steps.”
“She slipped in the bathtub.”
All at the same time.
Trust me. When this happens, Somebody is Going To Jail.
Oh, well. If they were smart, I wouldn’t have a job.