I am thankful that they’ve stopped making sweat pants with tapered, elasticized ankles. Unless you are in prison, you should not be wearing those.
I am thankful that at this–if at no other–moment my Chinese upstairs neighbors have stopped stomping and shouting and slamming things. Oh, the peaceful, quiet repose that is their absence.
I am thankful for chocolate and wine and pies of all kinds. Except mincemeat and pecan, I fucking hate those.
I am thankful for a day off to read this book, which is like comfort food. Lying in bed and reading it is like eating mashed potatoes or macaroni and cheese, only way less messy.
I am thankful for lemons, which transform a glass of ice water into something sublime.
I am thankful for kneesocks and scarves and typewriters and coffee.
0 Responses to “happy thanksgiving, chowderheads”