THANKSGIVING TRIFECTA – PART THREE
Dear Mr. Kurt Niesman,
As I write this I can still not wrap my head around this evening’s events. I had my coat on and was halfway, if not more, out the door. It is impossible for me to conceive that you purposefully forced me into a corner with no other option but to create a three part Thanksgiving Trifecta, something absolutely unheard of until this very day. Are you unaware that this fine God fearing country of America is on the verge of utter meltdown and the State of Illinois is weathering not only that unspeakable turmoil but is in the grips of a wealth of worries of it’s own? I guess I was the one mistaken: I thought we were friends. At this point, after much reflection, I see no other reasonable explanation at this juncture other than you are one hundred percent aware of the fact that I have just downright liked your style since I first set eyes on your face and assume that you are intentionally, if not actually, trying to kill me.
I would like you to know, and for me to be the one to shout it from the rooftops, or at least from the kitchen where I now sit, that I have solemnly sworn to no longer find you at all adorable and/or in the least bit charming as hell.
I sit now, a woman defeated, Googling the hell out of George Michael.
He’s not even an American for Chris-sakes, let alone even a neighboring Canadian. Or a child. Shame, shame on you. And I hope you have a great Thanksgiving.
Sincerely your “friend”