Seconds, Anyone?

It is an easy call. In my family, I am the one who would be banned from Thanksgiving dinner. With a wife, daughter and two college aged grand-daughters what chance do I have, being a politically incorrect, patriotic, conservative leaning, straight, white, southern male who refuses to help cook the derned bird? (Although I will clean up after, single-handed if necessary.)

But to their dismay I am right there every year, beer in hand in front of the ballgame, as far away as is possible from the kitchen and it’s matriarchal man-bashing.

Because hell, someone has to pay for it all.