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| Image by William Adams from Pixabay |
It's been a strange Thanksgiving.
For the last several years, I've spent the holiday with friends about a half hour away. They always put on a sumptuous spread. Today I arrived to discover the 88-year-old matriarch had just been struck with Covid, so the family gave me a feast to go, and I drove back home and ate it in front of the TV.
I was distinctly sorry we couldn't have our traditional gabfest. But one part of the annual tradition I was actually happy to miss. A semi-regular attendee at these gatherings is a fella who works for a conservative organization. That's trying enough, but the capper is he seems to be the only one who doesn't know he's gay.
I fear that one of these Thanksgivings I'll whack him with a drumstick and yell, "Wake up and smell the cranberry!"
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