That’s a Big Turkey
A couple of weeks ago, right before finals week, I hosted a makeup Thanksgiving for the previously-sicker-than-dogs Keathlys, my Mom, her husband John, and Donald and Chandler. It went well and dirtied every matching dish that I have in my apartment. Sarah photographed the whole deal, so I’ll use her photos for once.
My table is a grower, not a shower. It seated nine when fully… extended. We had the table set for a full two days beforehand so that I wouldn’t use any of the dishes to microwave burritos.
On the fateful day, Noah was deliciously cute.
Everyone ate a lot. I had to change back out of my nice button up shirt when I spilled some of the stuffing into the insides of the oven, necessitating that I crawl in.
Afterwards, Sarah and I played with her new strobes. You know, somehow she has convinced me to buy in to her claims that she can’t shoot decent portraits, but obviously she can and does.
They’re just all of me.
Hey, Sarah, that’s the best photo anyone has taken of me for years. What was it you said about not being able to do good portraits? Liar.
Noah’s third eye obviously brought great insight into how to liven up the festivities. So did my asscrack. Glad you got that documented.
Those pictures make me sad that you trimmed your beard, oh tired one. All you need is a hat and viola! you would look like a Mennonite, and maybe wooden glasses.