Thanksgiving in Margytown

Margy made me use a photo of my dinner (just pre-gravy, I'm sorry to say), calling it more photogenic than her own. Which is actually an important point, since the Thanksgiving cook, Margy's mother -- my mother-in-law -- told me the only reason she made a whole turkey rather than a breast was that I like the dark meat.

That's pretty cool. I thanked her kindly, but still I doubt she understood exactly how important these matters are to me. (Out of respect, I was prepared to keep my whole-bird advocacy issues to myself if I had to, though it wouldn't have been easy.) I tried to let the chef see me go up for thirds, as a sign of my enthusiasm. I'm not sure she noticed, or heard my chair beginning to creak beneath me; she had a Belgian waffle, hot off the iron and sprinkled generously with powdered sugar, ready for me by 8:20 the next morning.

We drove home from Margy's hometown with the turkey's other leg wrapped in tinfoil. I made quick work of that one too.