Although I only recounted the details of one, in reality, this year's prep for Thanksgiving required more trips to the grocery store. The rest were so scary, though, that I can't bring myself to talk about them.
Let's just say that there are a lot of people hanging out at the market this time of year, that most of those are hell-bent on getting what they came for, and leave it at that.
You and I both know, however, that Thanksgiving is not the only turkey-buying holiday of the year.
Which has led me to resolve that, with one small stipulation, old Ebenezer Scrooge can be as cross to me as he wants, all year long. He can be miserly with the coal and keep the office poorly lit. He can make fun of the way I dress. He can just be, really, pretty much as snarky as he wants to be--just so long as when the time comes for me to have to start thinking about going to town to buy a Christmas Turkey--that old poop is leaning out his upstairs window in his dressing gown and bribing a knobby-kneed kid to fetch a bird directly to my house.