We relish what may be our favorite holiday today for one very meaningful reason. No, not the "giving" of "thanks" - we're not some tiresome protestant bore that can only express a bit of gratitude when stuffed with dead bird and box wine. Today is the one day a year when it is acceptable to polish up our shoe buckles and wear them outside the house.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, they are truly glorious. And, they are authentic. Barfly's ancestors have been 'colonizing' dinner parties for a long time in this great nation. We've traced our family tree all the way to an 17th century pub owner (olde English for grave robber) known to the Plymouth colony as 'Gippy'. We know him as our Great Great Great Great Gippy - and we have him to thank for our lovely shoe fastenings (not to mention the genuine pilgrim skulls that join us each year for dinner - they sure love candied yams).
Before we join jolly skeleton Palmer and chaste rib-cage Prudence (we suspect she has a saucy side underneath that bonnet) for some yummy string bean casserole, we decided that we should provide some thanks on this sacred secular day. So, who gets the award this year?
Hmmm. . . this is harder than we expected. . .. our readers should be thanking us for every ribald syllable (please make checks payable to the Seagram’s Corporation as we are forever - i.e. $42,000 - in their debt). We could thank martinis, but Thanksgiving is more of a hot toddy sort of day. Gippy knows that we love his wretched old soul. The pilgrims have already been exalted for eradicating the area of the pesky red man (our nomination for invention of the new world = the smallpox blanket - so cozy, so deadly - American ingenuity at its best).
Well, there is only one solution to this quandary. This Thanksgiving, we thank ourselves, and we suggest all of you stop the namby-pamby nonsense involving 'families' and follow suit. This way, you get to drink the entire box of wine yourself.
So, thank you Barfly. Your dazzling personality provides more nourishment than this dried out turkey ever could. Not to mention your charisma, and your . . . Prudence, was that a blush that we just saw flash across your cheek? No need to giggle our pet. Why don't you have a nip of wine to sooth you. Oh, thank you, we love our shoe clasps as well, indeed they are precious silver . . . .
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