The turkey carcass was picked cleaner then if it had been devoured by starving piranhas. Crusty pans and bowls, devoid of any food scraps, along with empty plates, crumb-coated utensils, and greasy serving platters were precariously stacked in an overflowing sink – an Oneida and Corelle homage to the sacrificial bird.
Celebrants, sated into tryptophanic lethargy, were sprawled around the room in seemingly impossible positions. They undid pants waistbands and unbuttoned shirts, releasing glutted bellies from constrictive bindings.
“Every year I promise I won’t eat too much. Gotta stop wearing jeans with unforgiving zippers.”
“I so shouldn’t have worn this thong.”