First, obtain turkey.
Don’t enter Venezuela seeking visas to reach Turkey (and neighbouring states to join the bros in the caliphate.)
Also, reject the temptation of looking in the direction of pushy mother-in-law, the office Mean Girl Crew, other in-house “terrorists.” Or bite-up boss(es).
Turkey can be found in the grocery. Or, on someone’s farm. Please purchase. Forget jumping over fence and kidnapping the bird. Big mistake. Also, felony.
Turkeys can be nasty characters, but generally like all such, are brainless and easily overcome with sharpened blade or words of more than two syllables. In either case, they won’t figure it out.
So: frozen Butterball, it is.
Thaw, season, marinate, arrange in dish and roast the hell out of that bird at 375 degrees.
(If you forget the sequence, try to recall how politicians treat the electorate before and after elections.)
Cooking time per pound should be as brief as your Christmas salary. Even less, if you were a PP appointee. Don’t plan dropping by Jearlean, Indar etc, for ham.If you’re an NGC worker, you’d have collected your “bonus” from the buffet at the recent Hyatt party and toted it home in Tupperware you took to the fete as your Plus One.
If you’re awaiting back pay, work that Tupperware when you go paranging anyone’s house. Handy for supplementing your larder. (Run like hell if caught filching the pelau.)
Email severance notice to [email protected] But allow for reduced services. Limit gifts to stocking-sized items under $50. Tell Claus where the $10 stores are. Do not direct him to Charlotte Street (unless he wears Kevlar.)
Depending on your neighbourhood and pay grade, cross this season’s PSN “Call of Duty” off kid’s gift list. Also cross “hot” 9mm handgun off same.
Show kids the joy of pitching marbles or running around. Sweeten the sell by noting the merits of movement: no juvenile diabetes, yay! Explain why jellybeans aren’t a food group. Remember, only Dummy Mummies dote on the “dotishness” of extolling their two-year-old’s love for alcohol.
Practise dealing with tantrums, expected 2016 phenomenon ahead known as Recession Blues. (Not limited to kids.)
Advise dog there’ll be no ham bone for him this year because nitrites will give him cancer. Ignore the fact everyone else is ignoring that. Don’t fret if Rover immediately trudges over to the neighbours. And stays there.
Passing the home-baked bread, debate how PM Keith Rowley will take those economic bulls by the horns—if he’ll wear kid gloves and how delicately he’ll deal with the BS expected amid T&T’s non-bullish environment.
Avoid harshing your mellow by debating recession and if Finance Minister Colm Imbert or Central Bank Governor Jwala Rambarran need Webster’s dictionary app the most. After the canned pigeon peas course, ask the wife if Government really went fashionista and imported 1.2 million bands for citizens to sport around midriffs next year.
Rumour is, it came with IMF-authored instructions on application, length of time and non-use penalties. Plus extras, in case people sell them to Tribe’s micro-’kini section. Or use them as fanbelts.
Offshoot benefit if used properly: women under 40 might have waistlines again; guys will see their…toes. Worst case scenario: no turkey next year. Or Christmas. Unwrapping the meatless pastelles, ponder where Imbert will employ the cutlasses he’s stockpiling for next year’s cutting exercises (and nobody means his language towards the UNC in Parliament).
Expect Imbert to continue to be heard the most next year out of all Ministers, who seem to have taken a crash course from the PP Encyclopaedia of Mistakes (volumes 2010-2015) and have barely squawked since entering office, hoping to discourage papparazzi. Also, real questions.
Down a sorrel smoothie and chuckle over unions’ disappointment Government didn’t stick to its agreement with them. Restrain a smirk that “homies” actually expected any different.
Raise glasses of Wasa’s Finest to Kamla who beat up her boys and kept the title (then returned to losing two bye elections 24 hours after).
Spooning from $3 mini coconut icecream tub, be thankful for Christmas, turkey and life—even if turkey failed that score—and hope there’ll be a menu in 2016.
Source: The Trinidad Guardian Newspaper