my difficulties with dinner.
|"Name's Tom, what's yours?" The bird asked holding out his wing.
"You can Talk?" I set the ax handle against my shoulder.
The turkey managed a shrug, "Strange name, can I call you 'You?'"
"My name is McDonald."
"Okay, well McDonald, what do you intend to do with that ax?" The turkey asked with a lipless smile.
"Well Tom, Thanksgiving is coming up and...Just close your eyes." I hefted the ax again.
"McDonald, I don't feel comfortable with that." He shook his head.
I closed my eyes, did he have to be difficult. "Okay, just stop talking..."
"I really don't feel comfortable with that!"
"Come on man!" I swung the ax head to the ground, then it occurred to me he wasn't a man, "I mean bird?"
"Yes, I am a bird. Does that automatically make me dinner?"
"It's Thanksgiving!" My stomach growled.
"So invite me to your feast! Don't EAT me! Can you really eat someone you have had a conversation with?"
Good grief why did this keep happening! "You've been talking to Trevor!"
"What does that silly goose have to do with anything?" He chuckled.
"He pulled this same schtick last Christmas."
"And what did you eat then?" The turkey asked reasonably.
"Ever heard of Tofurkey?"
I sighed and turned to return the ax to the woodshed. "Dinner's at six!"