Well, my novel has taken an unexpected turn. While it started out as a light-hearted murder-mystery, filled with misadventures and cheerful mayhem, it has descended into a grim and seething expose on the dark underbelly of the world of mimes and trapeze artists. The research alone is terrifying. Joseph Conrad thought he had penetrated the "Heart of Darkness", but that's only because he never spent a weekend interviewing a white-faced guy dressed in a body stocking.
26: I'm thankful for THANKSGIVING! That's right, today's the day! And I am so excited, let me tell you! Between my mother's rolls and my mother-in-law's stuffing, there's plenty of reason to break out my Nacho Libre stretchy pants and dig in. Dinner today is going to be the bessssst.
Earlier this year I learned that I am a direct descendant of Isaac Allerton, a signer of the Mayflower Compact and eventual governor of Plymouth colony.
So the chances are pretty good that he was right there at that first Thanksgiving, scarfing down mashed potatoes with his pants unzipped while watching his favorite football team get stomped on cable.
(Doubting the authenticity of my speculations, are you? Well, tell me, Mr slash Miz Sassafrass: Was YOUR ancestor on the Mayflower? Was he? All righty then. Shut up.)
Therefore, having recently discovered my noble heritage, I feel a great deal of responsibility to set the record straight on just what went down on the first Thanksgiving. Knowing that Mr. Allerton and I share the same gene pool makes deducing the events of that three-day feast much easier.
First, the turkey came out dry, because Portia or Patience or one of those equally unfortunately named pilgrimesses was so busy watching the Macy's parade she forgot the all important task of basting. But in fairness to Perdita or whoever, that parade was quite a spectacle, given that the benefits of helium in keeping giant Snoopy balloons afloat wouldn't be discovered for another 300 years. All those volunteers standing beneath the monstrosity and 'blowing real hard' would have been difficult to ignore.
Then, the party nearly broke into a severe turf war over the proper preparation of certain root vegetables, and might well have ended in bloodshed had not the chief of the Marshmallogonquins been persuaded to smoke a peace pipe with the chief of the BrownSugarAndCinnamonoles. (It helped that the pipe in question was provided by the small but always popular Hempache tribe.)
Finally, when the last slice of "I can't remember, did that berry kill anyone last time we used it?" pie was polished off, and everyone was dozing under the narcotic spell of the chemical found in turkey that makes you sleepy (I think it's called "Nyquil"), a few forward thinking Plymouth-ites ran down to the local Kinko's and printed off a couple dozen ads for discounted Blu-ray players and other 'early bird specials', thereby creating that most time-honored of all Thanksgiving traditions:
Practicing your Mixed Martial Arts moves on fellow shoppers over the last Wii at Wal Mart.
I'm telling you, it makes you proud to be a Puritan-American.