Thanksgiving dinner

As I finished preparing Thanksgiving dinner, bespattered in turkey juices and other such remnants of meal preparation, collapsed in a chair with half a bottle of wine already drunk, I mused aloud that we should really make more of an effort to wear nice clothes for Thanksgiving.

Within two minutes, Ottawacker Jr. had changed from his ubiquitous football kits into a shirt and tie. Incredible. I didn't even know he had a shirt and tie.

So the record is straight, I didn't get changed into a shirt and tie. My tie was reserved for meeting prime ministers and, on occasion, ministers. I never wore them at work, much to the chagrin of various bosses. "I dazzle enough with my work," I would answer. "Wouldn't be fair to put everyone in the shade with my sartorial elegance, would it?"

Anyway, I am glad he has chosen this path, as it hides the multitude of self-inflicted injuries he has. He missed blinding himself my millimetres (scar visible) on the left; he injured his foot and was hobbling around in one sock (scar out of picture); he has... oh, I could go on and on.

But, you will be happy to hear, I won't.