I picked Jackson up from an after-school playdate today, and while we were waiting for the kids to come in from the back yard I asked his friend's mom what they were doing for Thanksgiving. It's an innocent question, coming from me, but maybe not so much from some other folks, because she gave me this real long, slow, suspicious look before answering, "Uh, we're staying here." Now granted, she's got a real dry sense of humor and I'm about 47% sure I was being played -- or rather, she was 47% playing me and a full 53% afraid I was going to ask if I could come over* and bring my flute***.
* Which, come on! Who wouldn't want me at their house for Thanksgiving dinner**?
**I can think of at least one person: two weekends ago Jack, Jackson, Peewee, and I went to have a long, inebriated dinner with friends and ended up sleeping in their kids' playroom where, in the middle of the night, an electronic robot spelling toy suddenly started saying D I L D O spells DILDO! and then I went into their bathroom and barfed up my filet mignon. But they were real nice about it in the morning. To my face.
***I've been practicing!