When I die facedown in a pool of something disgraceful, let it be said of me, at least, that I was a happy drunk. And that I observed occasions well.
The turkey was excellent (perhaps a bit garlicky; I’ll get the plain one next time). The wine as bitter as anyone could hope. James Bond hasn’t changed a bit. And when I took my annual inventory of the State of Weasel, it turns out I’m doing pretty well.
Happy Thanksgiving, every one. I love you all. Whoever the hell you people are…
3 Comments
Happy belated Thanksgiving, SW. And if you’re not going to finish that garlicky turkey . . .
Back atcha. I think I ate more today than yesterday.
A belated Happy Thanksgiving! I’m grateful for you and your blog.