I Come in Peace

Thank God Thanksgiving is officially over. I survived. I hope you did too. Baby Girl is also fine. Sleeping as sound as most two year olds do.

Tis Friday night, a few minutes past eleven, and I'm here in my pajamas, fixed hair and full make-up. I didn't take a shower after coming home from the Others. We went down to the uncle's for a (day after) Thanksgiving dinner. She was good, I suppose. I was not so good. I opened my big mouth and offended the hostess, Baby Girl's aunt.

We were all in the kitchen, empty plates in hand, food upon the island and countertop. There were big metal trays full of meat, and I don't particularly like meat. I rarely eat it, and hardly ever cook it, save for grilled chicken or fish. I asked someone, What is all this? pointing to the trays. Whoever said, That's turkey, that's pork, that's deer, and that's dove wrapped in bacon.

I said (in reference to the dove), Wow, that seems sinful.

[Crickets chirping] Complete silence. Then someone asked, What did she say??

I repeated myself. I said that seems sinful.

Someone forced a laugh, as if I was joking, though I did say it in a joking manner. I meant no harm. Nor to preach. I merely thought it a bit much. I mean, doves are beautiful birds. They're religiously symbolic. Noah let loose the dove from the ark. Tis a symbol of hope, and new life. They’re usually released at weddings, not shot, dowsed in barbeque sauce, tossed on the grill and wrapped in dead pig.

That's sad, and disturbing, and aren't there enough animals to eat already? Domesticated animals we raise for this type of thing. Do we really need to go out into the beautiful woods and shoot beautiful white birds??

I suppose for Easter, we should deep fry blue jays. Mince up a couple of cardinals and robins for a Christmas Day feast. Have hummingbirds on crackers for a midnight snack.

I took a piece of pork just to be polite, and gave Baby Girl some turkey. We walked into the dinning room, and the hostess sat at the bar. Whispered something to the uncle about not wanting to sit in the same room...

Am I that dislikable??

I realize the vast majority of my fellow southerners live to hunt. They’re proud of their prey, and their cooking. They think I'm strange. A skinny little snob that sits on the couch and says nothing to no one cause she doesn't know what to say. They all talk about what a shame it is for the Razorbacks to lose, and I don't give a damn. They swig their beers, and get loud, and laugh over corny jokes. Talk about movies you couldn’t pay me to watch. Gossip. I stare off into space and think about my novel. My friends. My internet life. How I need to do this, and want to do that. And how I shouldn't have made that wayward comment about the dove, and should I just apologize?

Baby Girl played with the closer of the others, while the hostess stayed as far away from me as possible. Sitting in the kitchen with a bunch of her friends. Smoking, drinking. All set for a night of riding four-wheelers. And here I am, hated and ignored, back at home, with Baby Girl bathed and in bed. Me, in a desperate attempt to actually win NaNoWriMo, all set to stay up all night, and write till my little heart's content, dowsed in prose, wrapped in blog entries, and thrown upon the hot coals of those I miss.