Five more days until the end of the job, and a couple of days home to visit the folks makes me glad to be going back to work.
The high point of Thanksgiving for me, was when I started the oven fire. This was really quite an achievement, since we ate out. #1 son is telling everyone that he can sum up the trip with the fact that he spent Thanksgiving in a buffet line next to a guy in a T-shirt that said:
“Remember when sex was safe and motorcycles were dangerous?”
But we had a pizza later, since there were no leftovers; but the pizza managed to split in half on the oven rack; which spilled toppings onto the bottom of the oven; which then caught fire; which is how I learned that, although my parents have a vast assortment of clocks and watches, none of which keep the correct time but all of which have the alarms set to go off at irregular intervals for the whole of a 24 hour period;
they do not have a reliable smoke detector.
I managed to talk my mother out of her idea of going around the table,in public, and asking everyone what they were thankful for, saying we “really weren’t that kind of people.”
We ended up doing it on our own, yesterday after coming home, when I was thankful for getting out alive.
#1 son was thankful for the invention of galvanized rubber. (He’s at a difficult age).
#2 son was thankful that the Pilgrims didn’t kill all the Indians…just a lot of them, for doing the green corn dance…
And then the conversation kind of went downhill fast as all our conversations tend to do. It was just as well that it didn’t play out in front of the Grandparents.
But it was similar to the conversation we had after dinner, when I wanted my son to choke me, to see if I could escape and strangle him with my purse strap. Because I had this idea for a book… And I am thinking a Coach shoulder bag for strangling, since they are really very sturdy, and they’ll restitch it for you if it rips out, although perhaps not if it happens while committing a crime. (If anyone from Coach is reading this, I would be only too happy to shill for your company in exchange for a new purse, although I’m betting this isn’t the kind of endorsement you’re looking for).
And on Friday, after dinner we discussed whether Andes Candies were appropriate in an Italian restaurant, or only there because no one could find anything that rhymed with Apennines. That conversation ended with a discussion of cannibalism, since it was the only thing we really remembered about the Andes.
I told someone the other day, that, really, we weren’t morbid.
I don’t know if that’s technically true.