Happy Thanksgiving to you folks in Canada. Just because you celebrate it first doesn't mean you celebrate it correctly.
From the warnings in the back of the Life textbook: If one sleeps over at one’s old house to take care of one’s own kids while their dad is on a business trip, and if one is pleased with how calmly and smoothly everything is going and has gone and seems to be likely to go in the future, one should not be surprised when one’s silly dog decides to have -- oh, what should we call it? diarrhea? -- in the master bedroom on the white carpet. One should be careful not to say anything too terribly vile to the dog while scrubbing away at germy spattery spots with old white gym towels. Note: one should be especially alert to the smirking meanness of the universe. The universe has been known to send along vicious wasps to sting one on the ring finger of the left hand, causing one to nearly faint from anxiety.
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Then again, one of my nicknames in high school was 'the unamerican american' -- which to a Bush Republican probably sounds like the direst of insults, but in context was the pinnacle of approbation.
And we have to invite Skeeter; he brings the green bean casserole.