Hello and welcome to that special time of year, and I speak of course of when we overindulge on turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, potatoes au gratin, Mr. Potato, potato chips and onion dip, creamed corn, that string-bean-mushroom soup-Styrofoam-onion-ring thing that nobody really eats but the dog loves it when you mix it in his kibble, probably something with cheese, rolls (three kinds), margarine (light) and three to seven desserts, after which we fall face down in our plate of Cool Whip remnants and lapse into a tryptophan coma … until we wake up at 3:45 a.m. and scream, “NOOO! I OVERSLEPT! Play-doh goes on sale at Toy Zoo for 39 cents in 15 minutes! Where are my keys!?!” And then you take one step and suddenly there’s a strange jingling sound coming from your stomach.
By the way, if you go to Walmart on Black Friday, just don’t tell Paul Johnson, or he might punch you. (Actually, after Johnson