You Forgot the Gravy, Didn't You?
The all important, meat-free, flour-starch-and-spice concoction, that exceptional brown gravy powder, is not here. It's the one in a small generic-looking package with yellow letters playfully informing you that it's vegan friendly. You remember that I'm a vegan, right? 1970's packaging aside, Amy's Brown Gravy Mix is simply delicious. I will not eat this fancy-looking crap in a glass jar with small bits of turkey flesh floating about that you accept as gravy.
Perhaps you didn't understand when I asked you to please stop at the store after work today and get some brown gravy, the only kind I like. Perhaps I imagined the conversation. If so, then I apologize. As you know, I am under a lot of stress at work, trying to get all the customer's orders ready and shipped before we close for the Christmas holiday. It's hectic.
The large pot of mashed potatoes is steaming, almost finished, but
butter will not complete them. The nasty turkey you made me
cook has only 10 minutes left. That disgusting fake cranberry
sludge that you like – the one that makes me want to punch
the cat when I look at it – it's sitting on the counter, laughing
at me, gravy-less.
Your mother told me she dropped you on your head when you where a
child but was afraid to call the doctor, or even tell you for that
matter, but we bonded and she let me in, so I will speak slowly. Could-you-please-drive-to-the-store-and-get-brown-gravy?
What, you don't believe me? You're wasting valuable gravy driving
time, but fine. Ever wonder why you get those mysterious migraines? Your
doctor can't place it, the discount chiropractor next to the liquor
store is clueless, but me and your mother know their origin, Mr.
Soft Head. You made a terrible sounding thud noise as
you slammed into the linoleum, and your eyes fluttered about. She
had no idea there would be lasting effects. You need more evidence?
Well, it may be just anecdotal, but when you mother gets here, try
scratching your head and asking her where the aspirin is. I guarantee
she wells up.
You should really get going. The store will be packed, full off other
lazy or absent-minded last-minute shoppers. If, heaven forbid, they
are out of my gravy, the only good tasting vegan gravy, then you
drive your forgetful ass to the next town, then the next one, and
so on until you hold the precious brown packet in your hands. I
read somewhere that dropped babies are 30 percent more likely to
develop Alzheimer's disease or schizophrenia as an adult. The green
beans are getting cold now and the stores close at 6pm, so you better
leave soon.
While you're out, could you pick me up a sparkling white grape juice? Wine makes me sleepy and I want this meal to be special. Love you.