I am scripting this engorged essay on Thanksgiving afternoon as I try to devise a method of loosening my pants without offending my equally-inflated houseguests. Every year I assure my nutritionist of 34 years that I will limit my caloric intake to a number less that the population of Calcutta, but once again my gut is all swole up like a blind chicken snake at a golf course. (For y’all Yankees reading this, “swole up” is Texan for overinflated.) I was hoping to waddle on out to the deck just in case those multiple helpings of sweet ‘taters go through some type chemical change, but it seems like I have contracted paralysis of the lower extremities and I’ll just stay put for now.
Since I am stuck on this sofa for a while longer, I thought I should jot down a few things that I am truly thankful for on this national holiday where we sit with friends and family and celebrate the day that some friendly Native Americans introduced corn to a lanky group of Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock. Coincidently, further down south in the Smoky Mountains, some Tennessee boys introduced corn liquor to some Native Americans.
I am rightly thankful that I live here in central Texas and not in some northeastern state where you have to shovel snow off your roof.
