I‘M WRITING THIS the day after Thanksgiving. I knew I was going to write something today, but I didn’t plan for it to be about the holiday itself. In fact, nothing could’ve been further from my mind. I had several other terrific ideas, I didn’t feel like it anyway, and, just incidentally, the editor here specifically told me not to. I think “warned me” would be more accurate, but why split hairs? It’s hard to remember that far back–Tuesday–but I think his exact words were, “Under no circumstances. I have many reasons. Just don’t.”
But something happened yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, when I was out buying the last few items, and it was so singular an event that the first thing my wife said when I told her about it was, “Oh, you have to write that for the next column.” So you can fire me, Mr. Perry White, but I’m going to take my wife’s suggestion. I take all my wife’s order-, uh, suggestions, and I have plenty of reasons myself, one of which is that I sleep with her, not you, at least not so far.
