THE SAVINGS ARE ENORMOUS!

The other day someone asked me if I was ready for Christmas yet. After a second, I admitted that I was ready for it to be over.
In all honesty, I'm looking forward to television advertising finally having a sense of humour again. And as usual, I will be avoiding the shopping district till the end of January, when many shopkeepers start closing their doors forever, finally convinced that this Christmas will not, did not, could not, make up for all the chaos, howling fury, rabid shopaholics, screaming children, and frustrated old grannies growling with very sincere ferocity that in their day Sunny Jim that THING only cost five bucks.

"Five bucks, you piranhas, five bucks!"


Actually, $4.95, with coupon.


This year, I want to see hundreds of live turkeys running riot, with sharp cock-fighting blades tied to their spurs. Black Friday should start with a blood sacrifice.
Union Square needs angry fowl.

Ready for Christmas? Dear dog, no.
I ain't even ready for Thanksgiving.

Of course, Thanksgiving is not something I actually know about anyway.
Haven't experienced it first hand since 1983.


From 1984 to 1989 was a rather solitary period. From the end of 1989 till mid 2010, although in a committed relationship, she never told her very old-country folks where she lived, with whom or what, and why despite living in sin with a kwailo she had no intention of ever getting married and becoming an honest woman. Consequently, like a dutiful daughter she trekked over the hill from her "post office box" to mom's house to have thanksgiving with her brothers, who never asked their sister about her private life, in exchange for not having to admit too much about their own.
Mom would have had a fit if any of them were involved with someone of dubious provenance. By which, of course, was understood anyone not impeccably malleable and Chinese.


Well, I don't really like turkey anyhow.


I'm more of a roast duck person.


No duck since 2009.


Actually, there just hasn't been home duck for the any of the holidays (on the second or third day). I no longer do roast a bird for special occasions. Never cook much, often, or elaborately, anymore.
Given that I eat alone, it would be singularly pointless, don't you think?

Instead, if I want duck, I go to Chinatown and scarf down a plate of roast duck and rice by myself. Wouldn't mind sharing, but I've reason to believe that many, perhaps even all, women are insanely concerned with healthy eating and prefer salads and shredded tofu to anything with flavor.
Low salt, minuscule portions, fat-free, and fibre-filled.
Plus I have a nasty suspicion that Thanksgiving involves relatives and football, followed by an acquisition frenzy in the shopping district, even more football, and all the family including creepy bachelor types going out to miserably bad movies in between leftovers, pizza, football, beer, and shopping.

Then huge amounts of gummy stuffing in the fridge afterwards.


Sometime this week I will have some roast duck.

No beer. No football. No Black Friday madness, which now starts Wednesday night in some places, shop early for massive savings.
No strange relatives, tofu, salad, food allergies, weeping, hysterics, anger, drunken uncles we don't allow near the daughters, foaming shopaholics, old grandmothers snapping that in their day they were already married at that age, and screaming brats.


I'm quite looking forward to it.


Duck.



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