Manolo asks, whose shoes?
Manolo says, it is Tuesday and you are back at your desk doing whatever it is you normally do, but very badly, as you are completely distracted by Thanksgiving, which is now barreling down upon you like the runaway freight train full of free-range turkeys.
Thanksgiving was not supposed to be crazy this year. It was going to be just you and Gary and the kids and your mother. But then your mother called two weeks ago, and said she’d invited your Uncle Bill to fly out from Buffalo for Thanksgiving.
“Okay,” you thought, “one more won’t hurt. Uncle Bill is an old school nut who will probably goad Gary into an argument about professional football. But one more won’t hurt.”
And then your mother informed you that Uncle Bill insisted on inviting his son, your layabout cousin Billy, to fly in from Hollywood to join you. Billy calls himself the “writer-director-actor-producer,” although what he really is is the 43-year-old, cut-rate playboy who subsists on the variety of menial jobs and handouts from your uncle. Although, to his credit, he did once appear as the non-speaking extra on Will and Grace, in the distant background, as the coffee shop patron.
Speaking of people subsisting on handouts, two days after your mother’s call, your daughter Jeannie, who is away at the college, called to say that she has invited some dorm friends home for Thanksgiving — three foreign girls and one Latvian boy — who have nowhere to go for the holiday.
“The more the merrier,” you think. And then the conversation takes the surreal turn.
“Mom,” says Jeannie, “one of the girls is from Africa, and in her culture the turkey is considered sacred.”
“We can’t have turkey, because Ki’x’il’ko,” the name included three clicks and the pop, “says her people consider the turkey to be a type of sacred spirit.”
Later, when you tell Gary that you’re going to have to order goose for Thanksgiving, his reply is succinct.
“Bull-crap. The turkey is sacred to my people, too, especially when served with sweet potatoes and cranberry sauce.”
“But we can’t be offending this girl.”
“Tell her it’s a really big chicken. Nobody thinks chickens are holy.”
And then five minutes after you get off the phone with the butcher, who informs you that you cannot order the 23-pound goose, so you’ll need three smaller birds, Jeannie calls back.
“Mom,” she says, “Ki’x’il’ko says it’s okay to have a turkey. She looked up the word. It’s ostrich that’s supposed to be sacred to her people.”
Luckily, you were able to call the butcher back and cancel the flock of geese.
And now, on Tuesday, with two days to go, you are frazzled and distracted from your work. And yet you are also filled with pride that everyone would consider your home and your family as being the good place to celebrate this important holiday.
Look, here is the Christian Louboutin Feticha Botta Platform Boots, simple, beautiful, dead sexy.
Manolo says, here is the Manolo latest column for the Express of the Washington Post.
I’ve been invited by my boyfriend to spend Thanksgiving with his family in rural Kentucky. This will be my first meeting with his “kinfolk,” and although I know he is exaggerating when he describes their country ways, as he himself is quite urbane, I’m still worried. What should I wear?
Manolo says, the Manolo is sorry, but whenever he hears the words “kinfolk” and “Kentucky” he thinks of the movie entitled Next of Kin in which Bill Paxton, Liam Neeson, and the late Patrick Swayze play three hillbilly brothers from deepest Appalachia. (Even the Manolo, whose English is not so good, could tell that everybody was faking the accent. )
In any event, the Manolo takes away two important lessons about rural Kentucky from watching this piece of cinematic flapdoodle.
The first is do not mess with the kinfolks, lest the hillbillies come after you with their antique shotguns, crossbows, Bowie knives, and rattlesnakes.
The second is always be polite to the rural people, or as the great Monday Night Philosopher, Hank the Bocephus, Jr, says about the country boys, “We say grace and we say ma’am and if you ain’t into that we don’t understand.”
As for what to wear, the Manolo suggests the Betty T-Strap from Frye, as being the shoe sturdy enough for the country road, and yet not inappropriate for Thanksgiving dinner or the church on Sunday.
Manolo says, sure to result in the outrageously outraged comments and counter comments, our friend Mr. Henry had addressed on the topic of vegetarians and the eating of meat.
Manolo says, the Manolo is not certain why these magnificent Jimmy Choo shoes should be called the “biker sandals”. Perhaps it is the golden studs, which make these sufficiently tough-girlish to meet the rhetorical requirements.
However, it is the opinion of the Manolo that the better name would be the Jimmy Choo Super Fantastic Turkey Day Thanksgiving Sandals!
Manolo says, just in time for the holidays, our dear friend Twistie is back blogging about the spectacular bargains at the Manolo’s Basement for the Bargains!
Manolo says, Ayyyyyyy! The Manolo has dropped his glasses this morning and they have broken! And the super glue, it cannot fix them! (Unless the Manolo glues the lenses to his face, hmmm, they are the rimless sort.)
Please excuse this technical difficulty which will delay the production of this day’s blogging.