Just when the leftovers from Thanksgiving thought they might be safe in the fridge, hiding inside their foil container with foil covering, I find them. Not only do I find them, but I also shovel them onto a microwave-safe plate. I am going to nuke those leftovers until they're as warm as they were when they hit the table a few days ago.
Before I dig in, I ask my son if he wants any of the Thanksgiving leftovers. He answers with a casual "Not now." Kid, I tell him, it's now or never. I'm serious about this food.
The moment my son passes on the leftovers, they magically disappear. I inhale that food so fast that it's like it never existed in the first place, but I went to Thanksgiving dinner, and I packed the container before I left. I know this stuff existed.
Oh, well. All that is left is an empty plate. I killed the leftovers, completely and totally, and I am not ashamed to broadcast that fact to a skeptic world.
