Dashing!

In the interest of fostering peace and harmony this holiday season, I have shaved my neck and done the teensiest bit of trimming on my cheeks—just enough to eradicate the few stray hairs that were beginning to march toward my eyeballs.

We did not celebrate Thanksgiving at the International House of Johnson today; not because we hate America or have an aversion to the hats the Pilgrims wore (c'mon, Solomon Kane was a badass, despite the hat), but because key members of our family were absent. We have delayed the feastibration until Saturday, when Laura's mother does not have to work and my parents and two-fifths of my siblings can join us. All told, I estimate that there will be seventeen mouths to feed come Saturday, and if you think I'm regurgitating that much turkey, you've got another think coming.

Happy Thanksgiving, all.

Well, except Nev, for obvious reasons. We uppity colonials may be tempted to point and laugh, but I'd like to think that whole "Revolutionary War" business is water under the bridge. Deep down, though, I suspect the entire United Kingdom avoids turkey on this day. I mean, like it's made of bitter, bitter poison.