LEFT OVERS

Thanksgiving will be over soon in our house.  It will be over soon.  That is what I keep telling myself anyway.  Soon someone will start to cry and another holiday will come to a successful conclusion.  When you are a man and you live in a house with three women, you learn quickly that a holiday requires drama to end properly.

     That is why I was glad to hear that the turtle has escaped.  I am doing my part in the turtle search by sitting on the sofa eating the leftover stuffing.  My wife and the girls are glaring at me, but that is ok; I am used to them glaring at me.  They are searching frantically for the turtle, not to save the turtle; they are searching frantically because they will be late for the Black Friday sales that now start on Thursday, and they cannot leave until they find the turtle.  Either way, I am ok.

     I am ok because I have a sofa and I have stuffing.  The stuffing is delicious.  I have been blessed with a wife who can not only glare, but cook as well.  She usually adds bacon to everything. 

Anything with bacon works for me.  If you don’t like bacon, it is not likely that I will trust you.

     My oldest daughter is complaining now that I am heartless because I am able to eat stuffing at a critical time like this.  I was hoping she would cry so that we could end Thanksgiving.  No tears.  And she calls me heartless?

     She does not understand that while it may seem that I am eating stuffing, on the sofa, watching football, I am really deep undercover.  I am conducting turtle surveillance.  I have already spotted the turtle under the TV table.  I was going to let everyone know but decided against it for three reasons.  The first reason is that they never listen to anything I say anyway and I would much rather use my mouth to chew stuffing.  The second reason is that joy would result instead of the tears needed to end the holiday.  The third reason is that I speak turtle and when I saw the turtle, the turtle saw me.

     We locked eyes and sized each other up.  We bonded right away because we both realized that we are pretty much in the same boat.  The turtle said to me, in turtle, “Come on man.”  I just nodded at him.  He nodded back.  I will not drop a dime on a turtle. And I ate stuffing.

     I pointed out to the girls that unless the turtle could open the door he had to still be in the house.  I saw the turtle try to smile.  It is hard for turtles to smile, you know, but he tried.  My girl’s panic turned to glee once they realized that they could still join the other women before the riots started at the midnight Black Friday sales.  They told me to watch the doors and my youngest, who saw that I had almost finished the stuffing, brought me the leftover cheesecake and pumpkin pie.  “These should hold you over until we get back Daddy,” she said.

     The turtle exhaled when he heard my wife spinning wheels out of the driveway in the Subaru.  So did I.  The turtle took a nap.  So did I.  I think I might be part turtle.  Hopefully one of my girls will get insulted and cry while they are rioting with the other women, so we can end the holiday.

     If not, I will fake them out and tell them that I stepped on the turtle when they get back so we can end this holiday properly.

     That is all.