Ghost Of Thanksgiving Past - 2005 edition




I published this the last two years, and bring it out again as a Thanksgiving tradition.

The Attack Of The Sliver People

I never saw it coming. I sat near the Sliver People, with no appreciation of the danger.

Thanksgiving dinner has always been high on my list. My approach varies from year to year. When I was younger I would pack in the savory tastes of dinner, often requiring a period of recline and sleep before contemplating dessert. The desserts would be delayed but never skipped. Gastronomes divide the world into those who like savory and those who like sweet. Thanksgiving desserts seem to come the closest to being both savory and sweet – pumpkin and mince pies, apple pies in crusts beaded with sugar and cinnamon, all of them topped with whipped cream, real whipped cream, not some healthy and taste-light substitute.

This year, I was at peace with the knowledge that my body no longer forgives excess as gracefully as it once did. There had been no second helpings of turkey, dressing, gravy, potatoes, yams, and the like. I had strategically Saved Room For Dessert. I waited patiently through the Talk After Dinner, and fell in step with the crowd for the surprise Walk Before Dessert. Having proved that we were all people who could delay gratification, we reassembled at the table for dessert. Pies, plates, and forks were shuffled and reshuffled into readiness, and polls were taken of who wanted what.

I didn’t recognize the danger as the Sliver Person announced himself. “I’ll just have a sliver,” he said. There was no need to concern myself with values and goals so different than my own. I imagined the piece of pie to come. The sliver was shaved from the pie and passed to the Sliver Person. As it was handed down the line, it would occasionally disappear from view when rotated at just the right angle, finally settling in before the Sliver Person.

I was looking away, and didn’t see it coming. The Sliver Person turned his head, and saw my empty place waiting for a Piece Of Pie. He selflessly plunked his nearly empty plate in front of me, saying, “Here, you take this one.” Without missing a beat, he turned to the hostess and again announced, “I’ll just have a sliver.”

I looked at my plate in shock and disbelief. I had been looking forward to a piece of pie all night, and now I had a sliver. As Conrad said, “The horror …. The horror.” There was no way out. It would be unseemly to wail, “But I don’t want a sliver.” It would be gluttony to be the only person at the table to reject their dessert as inadequate. I was defeated: game, set, and match.

Next Thanksgiving, I’ll be ready.

Posted: Thu - November 24, 2005 at 02:51 PM        

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