Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays of the year. I love gathering together with family and friends, eating food and giving thanks, or whatever. And watching football, and sitting around with a full belly and my pants unbuttoned. (Or off.) And having a few beers. (Or a few more beers.) And then going out in the yard and having a friendly game of football. And getting into a fight because they think that it's not OK give my 13 year old niece the fore-arm shiver as she comes across the middle of the defense. (Hey, if you don't want to play with the big dogs, stay on the porch.) And then going back into the house and having some dessert and some wine and watching some more football. (Where did I put my pants?) And then getting into a fight with Cousin Lou, because he has the audacity to think that maybe we have watched enough football and that we could help the women clean up the kitchen. (Pansy.) And then later, standing on the front porch and lovingly bidding my family farewell until next year. (Or that's how I remember it. According to my wife I stumbled out, yelled some obscenities at Grandma, puked, and then pitched forward into the begonias.)
What?
