Thanksgiving '06: The Aftermath

Monday, Nov. 27, 2006, 8:16 p.m.

[Burp]

That is the sound of me still digesting my Thanksgiving meal.

I spent the holiday with my cousin at her place in ParisHilton Head, and together we joined forces to cook and consume more food than is ever really necessary for anyone, unless they are competing on a gameshow called "Who Wants To Abuse The Hell Out Of Their Large Intestine?"

Our family has long held firm to the unspoken belief that when you stop eating, you are not saying that you are full, but rather that the food has defeated you. It is shameful to be defeated by the food, so your responsibility is to continue eating until 1) you fall asleep, or 2) there is no more food. If you absolutely must stop eating before either 1 or 2 is accomplished, you are allowed to claim that you are "leaving room for leftovers."

Usually, our family gatherings consist of at least ten to fifteen people, so there's no problem finishing off most of the food, but on this occasion, Cousin's boyfriend was the only other person at our table.

This was our table:

The bread and the other dessert are not pictured because we ran out of space.

I hope you will join me in being shocked that I am still mobile enought to write this entry.

After we ate dinner, we went for a walk down to the beach (HA HA, The North!) to toss a football around and play with the new camera I bought myself Wednesday in the spirit of Buying Myself Stuff.

Someone left us a piece of Thanksgiving beach art.

Cousin attempts to make this Tackle football.

Le Beach

I enjoy me some foosball.

This was the only non-palm tree in the area, and therefore photo-worthy.

Somewhere between throwing the football and taking that last photo (the rest of the photos, by the way, are here), I took a nice deep breath of the crisp South Carolina breeze and predicted, "I am going to get a cold."

Approximately 24 hours later, I was snorking giant hunks of nastiness out of my nose and throat and guzzling so much NyQuil that you'd think some of it would have been effective. I spent the rest of the weekend curled up in a sheet, watching HBO and sniffling at Husband to "Make me some souuuuuup!" (which he obligingly did -- one point for Husband!) as my sinuses gleefully indicated that they would like me to never breathe through my nose again.

So here I sit, Monday evening, full of pseudo-Sudafed (thanks a LOT, meth-makers, for making real Sudafed harder to come by than a picture of Lindsay Lohan with her privates not showing), attempting to make some kind of sense while blowing my nose till my upper lip develops calluses.

Unfortunately, that's becoming more and more difficult, so I'm going to go to bed. I leave you with this little gem of Southern culture:

How ever shall I pull myself away from this land of wonder?

P.S. Go here if you are interested in guffawing mightily.