— Oi, Fred.
— Where are you going for Thanksgiving?
— Church, I think. Let me check: yep, Church.
— But it’s Thanksgiving, not Christmas. This is America.
— Ah — no mate. I’m not going to church; I’m off to the Church’s. They’re expecting a big crowd.
— Oh! The Church’s. You should have said that to begin with.
— I did. Where are you off to?
— No idea.
— That’s too bad. You don’t have any family you could be with?
— Chance would be a fine thing.
— No need to take that attitude….
— No — I meant I wouldn’t mind going to the Chance’s. I’ve heard they put on a good spread.
— That they do.
— Do you ever dream about going to the White House? I always used to wonder if I’d get to do that. Must be nice.
— Tell me about it.
— But then there’s always wondering what to do with yourself the next day, isn’t there? Do you just sit around or what? It must be a bit lonely, I’ve always thought.
— You’ve got a good point there. Come to think of it, I’m rather glad to be with the Church’s. She’s a cookbook author, you know.
— Absolutely. Next best thing isn’t it? Going to a chef’s house?
— Got to be. But what if you end up with Tomato Slush? Or Mashed Rutabagas? Or Pink Grapefruit and Avocado Salad with Radish Chips?
— Surely not? At a chef’s house? That’s a fate worse than death!
— I kid you not.
— You’re making me think twice about this whole thing.
— Too late now, mate. They’re counting on you.
— How much do you weigh, anyway?
— 16 lbs, give or take. It’s all that corn I’ve been eating lately.
— That’s what — 14 lbs or so, dressed, right?
— I should think so, yes.
— Well, that’s perfect. Your fate is sealed. Feeds six, they say.
— I should hope so. You aim to feed six at least.
— It’s that or the dreaded Turkey Curry.
— Please don’t go there. You’re bring me down.
— Hey! I was only —
— Get stuffed!
— Get stuffed yourself, wattle-face!
Pennywise Party Perfect Dinners, The Good Cooking School, Inc., 1975