A Fireproof Feast

Three years ago, I was in charge of setting the Thanksgivng table at my mom's home in Virginia. I was hell-bent to make this the most goddamn gorgeous table the world had ever seen, so I went all Martha Stewart on its ass. We're talking flowers, cornucopias, FAKE GRAPES, PEOPLE, and most importantly, tea lights. We wined, we cheesed, we wined, we olived and pickled. As we all sat down to dinner, my mother filled the water glasses, and dumped the entire Brita pitcher on my guest. As we all scrambled to get towels, quietly from the other side of the table, I hear, "Nana's on fire." I look over only to see my G-Ma beating out a small tea-light induced flame on her Chico's sweater. Attention then shifts to burning grandma, inducing further chaos, which then ignites the tablecloth. Tablecloth and Nana were succesfully put out, and dinner went on as usual. This year, no flaming elders, a tablecloth that remained in tact, and no one got really drunk. Oh well, there's always Christmas.