Since my mom is being a sack of rotting assholes, I decided to take Thanksgiving into my own hands. And then promptly handed it off to Henry. I have never hosted a holiday meal at my small house before, and I know that Henry is just shitting his pants with delightful anticipation. In fact, he just came fromw ork and mumbled about needing a nap because he has “so much to do tonight.” See? DELIGHT. Shitting his pants with it. He has asked me at least twenty seven times if I’ve noticed how small our kitchen is. I always shrug and ask, “What does that have to do with anything?” which causes his face to darken and tremble, like his brain is about to blow.
My contribution? Scouring the Internet for like, AN HOUR, looking for delicious side dishes that do not require meat and do not ask to have crunchy onions hidden within their folds. Then I found some lady’s cupcake blog and wasted at least twenty five minutes gagging on my saliva like an epileptic so retarded she can’t even choke on her tongue right. Eventually, I had a proper menu put together. It was going great until Henry realized one of the recipes required a cheese that costs approximately $15 a pound. “That’s more than the turkey!!” he yelled in front of the cheese display at Giant Eagle. He promised to find a poor people substitute but that was two nights ago and curiously, I haven’t heard another word about it. I’m sure he’s devising a way to use a log of Velveeta. In any case, whatever he comes up will probably be right at home on the paper plates it’ll be plopped on. We doin’ this bitch up RIGHT.
I asked Henry yesterday if there’s anything I can make. “Yourself scarce,” he answered. Fine, I’ll go sit in a bar until dinner’s ready HENRY. At which point, I may or may not be home, depending on what my new-lover-from-the-bar’s got cookin’ at home.
Happy (day before) Thanksgiving, have some music.