I ate turkey today.

I haven't eaten turkey, or any other meat, since I started listening to The Smiths 15 years ago. For some reason, I just wanted it. So I put a little piece of white meat on my plate and scooped it up with a forkful of peas and onions. The first bite wasn't so bad. So I had another. But this time the word "flesh" was flashing in my brain like a neon sign. I was suddenly overcome with the sensation of beaks and feathers and dirt and pestilence, gobbling sounds, beady eyes, cages, flesh, flesh, flesh. My stomach turned. I stopped eating for a moment, had a sip of sparkling cranberry apple juice and the sensation passed. So that put an end to my turkey craving, probably for life, or maybe just another 15 years. Overall the meal was fantastic, and supplemented with the kind of conversation that can only arise with people you see once a year, whom in fact you don't even really know, and who definitely live in New Hampshire:

Some Older Woman with Grey Hair: If it's a gahbage disposal it should dispose of gahbage, not just certain pahts of gahbage!

Older Gentleman, also with Grey Hair: Well, This Old House magazine said not to put leafy greens down the disposal cause it clogs it up!

Older Woman: Yes, well, getting back to my point of view, if it's a gahbage disposal, it should dispose of gahbage, not just...

Later on, my stomach roiling with overindulgence, I flipped through an issue of Gourmet magazine and came across a blurb for Soda Pop Stop (nice music!). So I immediately went looking for Tahitian Treat, to no avail. I don't know how you can be the Soda Pop Stop without Tahitian Treat!