Look, I’m not going to complain about my crazy-ass family, because truth is they gave me many of my most marketable idiosyncracies.
On the other hand, THIS JUXTAPOSITION was happening on the corner table in my mama’s living room when I arrived for Thanksgiving dinner:
Not seeing it? Look closer:
Christmas with Paula Deen. Paula DEEN y’all. Paula DEEEEEEEEEEEEEN. Confronting me before I have even had any of Grandmama Dennis’s cornbread dressing. Before Thanksgiving is even under way properly, much less done with.
So basically if you ever needed any more insight as to how I became the homosexual y’all know and love, just consider the intersection of the Foxfire worldview and the Paula Deen worldview, and you will begin to understand.
(Aside: If the phrase “the Foxfire worldview” means little or nothing to you, NPR’s foodways blog The Salt has a nice roundup here.)
Aaaaanyhoo …. That was really the only true weirdness this year, if you don’t count my mama’s church-lady friend Betty. Betty was a musical-theater girl back in the day, and her son is a Hollywood producer (the recent Judy movie with Renée Zellweger, among other projects), and Betty is as they say full of piss and vinegar. Also stories, most of which are mildly scandalous.
Where was I? Oh right: Betty walked in the door, looked at all the people talking across and over each other, turned to me, and said in her best kindred-spirits-conspiratorial voice, “Lord, I need a cocktail.” This was at noonish, mind you.
Betty my love, I feel for you. I really do. It me, emeritus.
So how was your holiday?
p.s. — everything ended well, as indicated here: