I decided to skip the parade this year. Usually I go, since it’s only a two block walk from here. This year, it just felt like it would be too much trouble. It used to be, you’d just call up a couple friends, say, “meet me at 45th and 6th,” and you’d show up on the corner, find your friends, and go stand on the sidewalk. You can still do that, but first you have to get through a lot of barriers, and have a cop searching your purse, and, well, it’s just more of a hassle than I cared to bother with. It’s just like New Year’s on Times Square. In the good old days, security meant there were cops wandering through the crowd, not security checkpoints to get in. There are nearly twice as many cops in New York than there are people in my home town, and the general impression today is that every one of them is somewhere along the parade route. Kind of a pity, since it seems to be a nice day outside.
So, with the parade a television event this year, I’m concentrating on the food. I’ve learned to be an efficient cook. My apartment is fairly large, one of the handful of two-bedroom units in this building, but the kitchen is tiny. Still, it has everything I need. Stove, microwave, oven, all that cooking stuff, and a full-size refrigerator, which isn’t always a given in a rental unit. There’s not much counter space. You learn to utilize whatever there is very efficiently.
I went with a twelve-pound turkey. Back home, Mom would always buy the biggest turkey she could find, but back there you’d expect a couple dozen people cycling through on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Here, it’s just me, my brother Sam, and my friend Sarah. Sam’s bringing his new girl friend, who seems like a nice enough young lady. Sarah’s just bringing herself, like every year.
Why did I say “every year?” Strange. Seems like she’s been here a half dozen times for Thanksgiving, which is ridiculous, since I’ve only known her about six months. That’s just Sarah, though. I always feel that I’ve known her much longer than I have. Perhaps because she bears a strong resemblance to a neighbor we had when I was a kid. Both gorgeous redheads in their mid-30s. I have no idea what the neighbor tasted like, since I was a kid at the time and that sort of thing would have been inappropriate, to say the least, but Sarah is delicious.
What is a writer thankful for on Thanksgiving? Family, of course. At least, the ones like Sam, Aunt Becky, Uncle Ralph, Aunt Imogen, cousins Andrew and Eve. In other words, the ones that aren’t certifiable, and don’t think Pat Robertson is someone you should trust, or that our current President was put here by God to save us from the commie socialists. I’m thankful for Sarah, she of the perky boobs, flaming red hair, and talented tongue. I’m thankful for my faithful readers. Particularly the ones who’ve added themselves to the notification lists at the booksellers and buy each new book as soon as it comes out.
I’m thankful for Jim, my proficient, efficient, and really well-hung IT guy. I actually invited him, but he’s off in the suburbs with his daughter and grandkids. I can hardly blame him. I’d be doing the same, if I had either of those.
Of course, with guests over, I have to dress up a little. Well, I have to dress. If it was just Sam and Sarah, I think I’d be fine wandering around the apartment naked, but Sam’s girlfriend apparently isn’t into orgies. She’s not a religious nut, like our Mom, but she’s not a social nudist, either. Neither is Sarah, really, but we spend so much time together naked, and she has so little in the way of false physical modesty, that she’d be just fine with dropping her clothes the moment she walked through the door.
Anyway, have a happy Thanksgiving. It’s time to go baste the damned turkey.