We are in New York for a funeral. I’ll be back on Friday, but Jonno’s staying on with his mom for a couple of weeks.
You know, he sometimes puts on a curmudgeonly face, but you should have seen Jonno yesterday: from the moment we landed, he was making plans to take over Thanksgiving responsibilities from his aunts. It was just so–for lack of a better word–cute.
Of course, being the self-centered schmuck that I am, all Jonno’s talk eventually led me to wonder what the hell I’m going to do next Thursday. Visit family? Join friends? Pretend I’m a crazy old lady and spend all day making a meal for me and the hounds and the cat and then force them all to sit at the table wearing little hats and bibs and eating with utensils taped to their paws and forcing them to clean their plates before I bring out the only dessert I can make, an apricot nectar cake? I just don’t know…
Then my prayers were answered: some fool at the New York Times decided to run an article on turducken, complete with helpful hints. Maybe I’ll try my hand… And boyfriend, I apologize in advance if you return to New Orleans only to find me in some crazy-lady slippers, perched on half a scorched suitcase, surrounded by sooty animals, in front of the smoldering remains of our happy home.
Wish me luck, y’all.
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