No macaroni and cheese this year. No Pillsbury crescent rolls, either. I joined Cade for my first real Yankee Thanksgiving. (Thanksgiving in NYC last year doesn't count - the pies were from Fairway)! Other than the absence of a few familiar processed dishes, it was pleasantly ho-hum. Home-hum, even.

En route to the restaurant/brewery where I had my Turkey Day feast, Cade's brother, Mace, motioned in the direction of a dingy building. "I went there once, and there weren't any girls there." I surmised it was a hole-in-the-wall bar...of the titty variety.

"No girls?" Cade and his dad began to ponder. How curious... Were they all on break, vacation, or dare I suggest, maternity leave? Absent tees, okay. But absentees? Not okay. If the billboard says boobs, give Mace boobs.

"Well, they don't call it The Shitty Titty for nothin'," Mace explained. Cade's dad gravely replied, "They should call it The No Titty."

I was one sticky ring on the particle board coffee table closer to my roots, lemme tell ya.

*A short list, if you want to know what else happened over Thanksgiving break: apple procurement from Solebury Orchards, an Eastern European dinner gone intrusive, Target shopping, drinks and standing around in Doylestown, PA, a butcher shop, ice cream, bacon every day, mushy conversations every fifteen minutes...