Tis the season

I draw the knife from the cutlery board, wondering to slit her throat or mine, maybe both. I turn around, she looks at me, the knife in my hand, and says “Oh Daddy (she knows I hate that), you found the early present I bought you. Will you carve the turkey, dear?” She appears to be smiling; the guests see only that. But I know her - it’s not a smile, it’s a sneer. “Dare ya” it says.

She has a way of reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart; not in a comfortable way.

Resignedly, I sigh and lower the knife to my crotch. “Pull down your pants and emasculate yourself; finish physically what she’s accomplished mentally.”

I bring the knife back to table level and proceed to carve the turkey.

I love the holiday season. Mrs Claus? She’s a bitch.