Friday, December 2, 2016


Ha ha, fooled you--


We were all at the table. Chris was piling the turkey high on everyone's plates.

"Mom, what would you like?"

"Just the dark meat."

"Mom! It's African-American meat. Come on."

Toots, sitting across the table, giggled. I winked at her. She at least was hip to my comedy stylin'. We ate, I made a joke about a lady vomiting at Barnes & Noble which made Mom yell SHUT UP at me and hurt my feelings like a carver's knife had slashed open my belly, and then it was time for dessert. Mom had brought three pies in the shapes of chainsaws while Toots had made cupcakes with turkeys made of frosting and blood. Then Mom decided it was time to leave. It had been a full hour since we had arrived. As we went for my car, just Mom and I, she turned to me with a smile.


She pulled out a large wad of turkey meat from her coat pocket. A wadded tissue also fell out.

"Mom, why are you stealing turkey?"

Mom shrugged, stuffing the meat back into her coat. "I didn't want to create a fuss. Chris was busy, and I didn't want to bother him. Now I have something for a sandwich tomorrow!"

At last: true horror.


It was my birthday, so I got to choose where we were going. I suggested the Kona Grill, and Mom thought how great it would be if we went to the Bonefish Grill. We went to the Bonefish Grill. Funny how birthdays work out just like you dream them.

We had the whole place to ourselves, which I guess was kinda eerie and fit in with the arbitrary theme of this post. Talking about Toots getting her letter jacket led to Mom waxing winsomely about the happiest moment in her life.

"I was in high school and my boyfriend gave me his letter jacket. He draped it over my shoulders and I so happy."


Finally, I said, "It wasn't when you had me?"

Mom looked at me. "Oh, that, too. I guess. Happy birthday."

She handed me a gift bag. I pulled out a pair of red socks with jingling elves and Santa on them.

"Thanks, Mom. Now I have a license to be jolly."

"Those look fun, don't they?"

"They'll make my feet look drenched in blood." Forsooth, I had revenge in mind. With a chilling tone, I leveled a cool blue-steel look, farted, and then asked Mom: "So. How was your sandwich yesterday?"

Mom stared blankly.

"You know, the sandwich you made from the meat you took from Chris's house? The meat you stuffed in your coat pocket? In a wad?"

"Oh! Yes, I took some meat from your house, Chris."

"What?! You took meat from my house?!"

"It's true," I said, "she took meat from--"

"Yes, I took--"

"Okay, shut up. Why didn't you ask for tupperware or something, I could have put the meat in--!"

"I didn't want to create a fuss."

"Oh, I'll give you a fuss, Mom," I said, the string under my conical hat choking my air supply. "Guah... Ssah... I'll give you a wad of fuss."

Right then a clown in a goalie mask and a red baseball cap about America's greatness attacked our table and we were all hacked to bloody death. See? I can write in any genre!

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