Giving thanks for the gobble

For this Thanksgiving I had great plans to stay at home and be anti-social while eating my traditional French onion soup, but then my next door neighbor went and ruined my plans by inviting me to their family dinner.

This is the same family that invited me to dinner one of the first years after I moved here, then sat me next to "Uncle Walter" at the table. Uncle Walter proceeded to drink himself into an obnoxious state and spent a large part of the evening embarrassing all of his relatives. I found out later that this was his standard M.O., which was why I had been seated next to him. They apologized for that (after the fact). It actually turned out alright, though, because he wasn't my Uncle Walter and thus I didn't really care what he was talking about.

This year there were no extended family members, so it was a more relaxed affair. The turkey wasn't cooked through, initially, but as the lone vegetarian at the table, I didn't care. Everything else turned out well, and their dog only managed to steal one roll out of the kitchen before she was caught and banished to the living room.

I spent part of the evening trying to convince my neighbor that I'm not really a CIA agent. What she sees as my mysterious behavior is really just me being my normal, boring, occasionally erratic self, but I'm having a hard time getting her to believe that. She's mostly joking, though. At least I hope so. I finally told her that if she found out the truth I'd have to kill her, so she should stop asking questions. Then we started talking about rules of grammar, ethics in production, the fact that her mother refuses to believe that her grandparents weren't married until after their first child was born, and other pressing issues.

Anyhow, a good time was had by all, even if I did have to postpone my hermit day. Tomorrow, though, I'm not talking to anyone. The world can be thankful for that.