The Turkey



 

"Case? Why is there a twenty-five pound lump of frozen poultry in our kitchen?"

"Because it would be awkward anywhere else?"

"We had an agreement, Case."

"Yes, and I didn't break it. I stopped by the grocery store for more cheese and those little donuts that you like and they gave it to me. Turkey points or something."

"Turkey points?"

"Maybe just points. You know, for spending a certain amount in a month."

"You've been buying crackers in bulk again, haven't you?"

"And cheese wheels. We'd probably starve otherwise."

"We do have a chef now, Case. You keep forgetting that."

"I do not. But he does not grasp the concept of midnight snacks. Like I'm going to munch on canapés while I watch bad sci-fi movies."

"He uses the shopping service. You could have them deliver your snacks and avoid random turkeys."

"Maybe I like random turkeys. Did you forget it was a turkey that helped me win my first award for Transitory Steel?"

"No, I didn't forget. It took eight months to renovate the kitchen after that particular photo shoot."

"Is it my fault they don't have any blowtorch warnings on the turkey package? How was I to know that dressing is flammable?"

"It didn't just burn, Case. It exploded. There were half-charred turkey bits everywhere."

"I know. Those were some amazing photos."

"Case? I'll make a deal with you. We'll have anything you want for Thanksgiving dinner. Even that sweet potato marshmallow thing if you'll do me two favors: let the chef fix the turkey, and put that blowtorch away."

"Fine. But I want extra marshmallows."

"Only if you don't set them on fire and take pictures."

"You're so demanding."

"You wouldn't want me any other way."

"I suppose not. Want to see my coffee table made out of triscuits?"

"Lead on, Case. I wouldn't miss it."
 

Return to Astra Plain's