Categories
Steinbeck, John

The Chrysanthemums

For years, the only time I’ve ever been the slightest bit jealous of my carnivorous confreres has been in those moments after a Thanksgiving feast, watching them settle into the tryptofanatical haze of blissful near-slumber. The rest of the year I laud my healthful eating habits, but in those moments while sitting sprightly and alert at attention after the traditional Overindulgence In Side Dishes that defines the plight of non-flesheaters at such feasts, I wonder why the hell the pharmaceuticals aren’t offering up in capsule form what seems a perfectly legal and government-endorsed out-of-body experience. In short, it’s the only time I feel like I’m Missing Out.

BUT!

Leave it to National Geographic to dispel the soporific effects of these turkey dinners you so crave. All these years, and you meateaters have been faking it!? Does this only happen in the presence of nonmeateaters?

In other words, I’m onto you. So next year, rather than holding up the charade, why not dose off naturally, organically, bedtimestorily?

Play