Thanksgiving was tasty, drenched in grape bacon gravy, I spent it with my fam and sweet bridget baby.
I had seconds and thirds then made room for more, I came back for nineteenths then dropped to the floor.
My gut had distended, and frightfully so, that the gravitational flux made walking no-go.
I gathered myself up from the floor with a sigh then leveled my eyes at a twice-spiced pumpkin pie .
It looked nice.
The wedge was a thick one, and pumpkiny too! It was orange and topped with whipped sugar goo!
I reached out a hand, and never too soon, for there stood nephew, and he wanted it too!
He’s not even three, but he’s big for his age, and he knows 19 words but is as wise as a sage. For these reasons and more I feigned gut attack, I clutched at my tummy and stepped humbly back. But my toddler nephew set the slice before us for a double attack!
Oh cherubic ill-chided child of charity, this pie sharing scheme is of unicorn rarity.
He used grimey chub fingers and I used a spork and we ate the pie, the plate, the table of cork.The table was eaten so we dropped to the floor- the tile tasted tangy and the floorboards were sweet, we realised the foundations were rock cement treats! So we gobbled and swallowed till hours late and hallowed,our mouths lead the way and our bodies soon followed.
I rolled him left he rolled me right. But we had eaten it all. Not a morsel in sight.