THANKSGIVING

GRAMMY:  Well, for a couple of vegetarians, you sure picked that bird to the bone.

ME:  I don’t know what it was, Grammy, but I just couldn’t seem to get enough.  I don’t remember ever having turkey that tasted that good.

GRAMMY:  It’s the whiskey.  I injected the turkey with some Jack Daniels.  A squirt here, a squirt there, a cup mixed in with the juices for basting.  Yep.  Ain’t nothing better than a whiskey-basted bird.  Unless it’s a nice shot or two of whiskey to wash it all down.  Looks like it knocked Julius right out.

ME:  He’s such a good boy.  But I wonder why Alfie didn’t show up?

GRAMMY:  He’s in Florida with his parents.

ME:  How do you know?

GRAMMY:  He told me when I invited him.

ME:  So you knew he wasn’t coming?  Why did you tell me he was?

GRAMMY:  I never said he was coming.  I said I invited him.  It’s not my fault you didn’t ask follow-up questions.

ME:  Gram . . .  Oh, forget it.  I should be mad as hell, but I just don’t care.

GRAMMY:  It’s the whiskey.  And the tryptophan.  Don’t you just love Thanksgiving?

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