Suldog's post yesterday reminded me of a true story. A secret, actually, that my mother said that I should never tell.
I'm sorry, Mom, this story really needs telling. Besides, I'm the only one left who was there... hadn't even met Uncle Niles yet.
It was November 1950. We were living in San Francisco. Mom and I had moved into a new (to us) house about four or five blocks from my grandparents (her folks), who were hosting Thanksgiving dinner. I don't remember all of the details, but somehow Mom was put in charge of the turkey. For some reason Mom put the bird in the kitchen sink before we went to my grandparent's to get their car so we could bring the turkey back.
I'm sure it's no mystery to anyone that the turkey didn't go unmolested. When we returned home, we found it covered with those pesky little six-legged beasts. Once over the initial shock, my mother thoroughly cleaned off the bird and wrapped it in a couple of kitchen towels. She then swore me to silence. The story's out now.
Well - what the eye doesn't see and so on. A lovely story.
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