Comas induced by too much food and drink.
Jim asks everyone "What are you thankful for."
I dread those kind of holiday questions. Lisa S. starts saying something but I'm lost in my own thoughts.
Lisa W. starts to answer but I'm still not paying attention.
Charles, the holiday gimp, lets us know Andy has just parked her car.
I yell out, "I know what I'm thankful for!"
What? they all ask in unison.
"Genocide" I say snidely.
Oh Eric! They all laugh. You're so naughty.
"No, not naughty, I'm drunk." Too much blanc de blanc. Too much blanc de noir. Too much cuvée de prestige.
Lisa W. and Jim start arguing about genocide in Africa and the effects of colonization. I pop into the kitchen to be with Alex who is looking after the turkey roasting in the oven.
"What the hell are they arguing about?" Alex asks.
"Yeah. Well I just stirred the pot and left. Lets see who survives the war."
I think back to the last time I got Lisa W. and Jim to argue. We were at Chez Panisse in Berkeley. I asked which was the better French museum: Musée d'Orsay or the Louvre? They both picked one and fought it out. Wine glasses were broken.
Fine diners were horrified.
I was so happy.
We eat dinner after the briefest of prayers. I don't think I can do any more.
The table gets cleared. Desserts spring up. Too many choices and not enough room in my tummy. Charles has taken a percocet to deal with his torn Achilles tendon.
I call him a: twattwaffle.
He repeats manpussy several times laughing harder after each utterance.
Jim falls asleep on the couch. Followed by Lisa W.
Lisa S. and I go to walk off our meal. The air is crisp. People already have their Christmas lights up and running. I have to wonder if they ever took them down.
Back in Jim and Lisa W. are awake. It's Lisa S. and my turn to take over the couches. Lisa S. falls asleep but I'm awake listening to everyone talk.
"I don't have to take Vicoden anymore," Andy says, "now that I divorced my husband."
What a way to give up an addiction.