My Cardboard Balcony

Her Pecan Pie by Belinda Roddie Her pecan pie was crisp, sweet, and divine - it practically melted in my mouth, and as I polished off the bite with wine and smiled at her, I was left with no doubt of her baking expertise. As the plates were cleared, I sat with her on the divan, and she spoke at great length about debates regarding Thanksgiving's history. Plans to woo her slipped away, and all I had was the delightful taste of pecan on my tongue. I chose to help my mom and dad with dishes. Washing took an hour long, so once I was done, she had left with my cousin, whom she would marry. Time to die.

Attention, everyone! Attention, everyone with turkey in their mouths and mashed potatoes still lumped on their plates! This is your drunk uncle Max with a major announcement. And that announcement is this: I am boycotting pants. I repeat: I am boycotting pants. Pants are the devil's garments, and my loins shall be free! Free, you hear me?! Wait, Rita. No, don't lock me outside! I'm not done with my stuffing yet! Rita, no!