My Cardboard Balcony

Thanksgiving At My House by Belinda Roddie Thanksgiving at my house was quite a show. My family arrived just in time to see my son applying make-up, a glow spread across his cheeks. He wore Mother's blue silk dress, with diamond studs in both his ears. His girlfriend, Sasha, wore a fitted suit and somehow did not get any dark smears or stains from the turkey she carved. Though mute my father was, Mother was grinning. She hugged and kissed her grandson, and she said, "How beautiful you both look. Come. Let's eat. I'm so hungry, I could feast on a cow." The dinner was a hit, and I gave thanks for my son, brave enough to wear my spanx.

"I did not come to your mother's house to eat a disgusting tofu turkey," whined Edward as he plopped himself down on the couch. "It's called tofurkey, thank you very much," his girlfriend Ida snapped. "And you should be grateful she's offering you anything to eat at all." "You can enjoy your weird, bland sponge bird," Edward said. "I'm going to watch the football game."