What about the accompaniments, the side dishes, the wonderful little mounds that contain green beans, garlic mashed potatoes, herb stuffing, cranberries, and other mini-utopias that comprise 99% of my Thanksgiving meal? Heresy! The Thanksgiving deities may strike me tryptophan-comatose, but I just don’t enjoy turkey as much as the sides. Give me a dollop of Kevin’s cranberry compote or a piece of pecan pie any day.
Never mind this is why I now weigh 4 pounds more than I did before the prolonged food foray, and should I feel the need to get into my Christmas party outfits, will be forced to put in more appearances at the gym. One word: spinning.
My weekend wasn’t filled merely with gratuitous eating like everyone else, here’s something that should put My Weird Life in perspective: a friend of mine and his wife asked me on Friday if D and I would consider making them a baby. As much as the request was prefaced nicely and only with the most honorable of intents, I have to quote a graphic handed to me by the witty Jules for just such a purpose:
Needless to say, this left me only mildly frazzled, which furthermore led to feverish Mardi Gras float-making and the consumption of respectable quantities of Tanqueray product over the rest of the weekend. Saturday night served as the most comprehensive cleansing experience, when several of us celebrated Dr. Chowdhury’s 33rd year at the Bridge Lounge (where Happy Hour is followed by Disgruntled Hour).
Add to it this Monday morning’s queries* from co-workers such as “How do Hindus celebrate Thanksgiving?” and “Do they celebrate Thanksgiving in your country?” … and I’m set.
*Answers: “Durrr (with blank stare)” and “Yes, in America, we celebrate Thanksgiving.”


