The day before Thanksgiving—Black Wednesday—full of frosty conversations regarding food, alcohol and who is responsible for Aunt Jaycinth.
I stared into my candied yams pretending not to notice that her wig was sliding off of her head. I also tried to ignore the fact that Aunt Jaycinth was wearing a tee shirt that read Bite My Ass. And wondered who was in charge of QWitter since he was streaking around the neighborhood. After all, I lost the argument of responsibility—it was me who picked up Aunt Jaycinth and thought if flatulence was a weapon, I’d be safe with her. The good news was that her teeth were already in when I got there. The bad news was that she had a see-through lace shirt on with no bra. This was when I told her to change into something a little more festive---Bite My Ass wasn’t what I had in mind.
Though I should have been thankful, I suppose, that it wasn't her customary holiday outfit of a too-large purple muu muu and fluffy green slippers. Like alcohol in a tavern, more family started pouring in—ToT, Haggis, cray, stew, AB, Angie, regdog and her smelly companion quickwit, who she willingly ignored—and there was more to come. I went to the basement for a few moments for some peace and quiet and to break into the secret liquor stash. Unfortunately, someone had already beat me to it. I don't want to name names, but his rhymes with gag-us. They were yelling my name, so I headed back upstairs to find ToT, cray and AB by the bar licking the tops of the liquor bottles.
Having nothing else to do, I looked at the marvelous christmas tree- in all it's plastic fake green and white glory.
