The List. My gift to all of you..a little Holiday tale.
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Yesterday at 11:21pm | Edit Note | Delete
:::::::::::::::THE LIST ::::::::::::::::::::::::: (reprinted by popular demand)
:::::: Thanksgiving ::::::::::
Now, this Holiday is wonderful., no doubt about that. Generations lovingly reunite around a groaning board filled with delectable fare and sweet treats that families look forward to all year long..... Traditional things... Harvest and home.... warm fires and full bellies and football and pumpkin pie and the promise of the Holiday Season.
But there is something that no one talks about.....
A secret... an annual event that horrifies men, brings nightmares to even the strongest....and keeps them from the joys of football, beer and Summer Sausage until this dreaded task has been completed.
It is……….. ::::::: THE LIST ::::: ::cue ominous music:::::
You can recognize these desperate Pilgrims easily....and you can sympathize with them...but only THEY can fulfill this quest...alone.... with only meager, minimal help along the way....
Husbands...boyfriends...cousins... but mostly Husbands, are sent....Thanksgiving morning.... with the threat of failure looming dark above their heads.... for failure will mean Shame... Disgrace... Nagging... and WORST of all......NO Football.
The bleary eyed stare is clear in the fluorescent glow of Supermarket Aisles across the country... like lemming... they go......they must get :::: THE LIST :::
This List contains all the items Mom ...Grandma...Sweet Heart…Honey...darlin'-in-law ....forgot at the store the day before when she got all she thought she needed to produce this prodigious Holiday Feast.
And if he fails at getting EVERYTHING on this list…. exactly as specified....Shame and Horror Shall befall them.
They will be Doomed to walk these aisles forever... as half men...for they cannot return home with out every one of these precious, precious things.
I strolled the aisles confidently.. I had no list... I was safe...and I watched these poor menfolk., like zombies.. lost in a world of badly lit gustation....not knowing where these items were...wandering in a harried daze... pale lips… frightened eyes...worried brows... not daring to ask for direction because, as Men, …. they cannot.
I managed to help one lost soul. He was looking for cranberry sauce.
He was big, burly, manly; wearing a football jersey and a similar expression, I would guess he might bear, if he had been sucked up into an alien space ship.
Fear. It makes them panicky and flighty.
I pointed him in the direction of the small cans that would save his life.... he was grateful for only a moment – then blinked nervously and looked back at me with a lost pleading stare, : "There are different kinds? I see different kinds here..."
Jellied and whole. Light, sugar free, Low sodium. He was sinking.... lost in the visions of what would happen at home if he brought back the wrong kind.
I kindly, and slowly, so as not to frighten him further, suggested he get one of each- or a few. I didn't dare point out the fresh cranberries in the produce aisle. I didn't want to need a defibrillator on aisle 9. He gingerly scooped up his small prizes with bear-sized paws.. gently blinking grateful eyes.... it must have been a speck of dust.....
He left happy, buoyant, going to the light at last. The checkout line.... full of hope and glory.. and the promise of football....and praise.. and beer... and football...and turkey dinner with all the trimmings.... and football. For he had conquered :::The List:::
And yet……
...There will come a Season....when he may not be strong enough…. have fed enough....he is too old to keep up....and he will be taken down.
A proud buck...finally stilled... in the baking supplies aisle.
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bouncy
calm
crushed
confused