Her Wits End

aboycommemoi:

When I drive past a house during the holidays, and I see the smoke billowing out of a fireplace, I know, that inside that house, on that kitchen table, there’s a turkey carcass, open-winged, open-legged, its body ripped apart and eaten by the entire family. If that turkey could talk, its last words would probably be, “I’ll see you all in hell!! And which one of you ate my hangy dangly thing that used to be my ass!!”

But thank God, turkeys can’t talk. They can only gobble. And they are a bird. A very nervous bird. You’d be nervous too if you knew that one day someone was going to cut off your head, and fill your butt cavity with stuffing. Although I know a few people that would welcome it. I can almost see them reading this right now, saying to themselves out loud, “You got that right!”

The holidays are about people. All people. Caring about the people in your life. Even though you may not see them anymore, talk to them anymore, have driven a wall between you and them that is irreparable… You know that one day… if you have enough money… they will come back to you. Unless they have what my dad used to call ‘integrity.’ If you had friends that are no longer your friends, perhaps it was the time to let them go. I’ve known people that only liked me for what money I had. I call those people, “Honey.”