Next week is Thanksgiving and we at our wit’s end.  We usually go next door to have turkey with the neighbors. This year, they go east to see a new granddaughter.  Someone and I thought we would eat TV dinners have a cozy Thanksgiving supper for two, but a friend invited us to his party.  We are saved.

However, this means we have to bring an hors d’oeuvre.

Ohoh.

A gay men going to a supper party is  the equivalent of a straight woman going to a wedding. Both are alarmist states; both require “something new”, lest there is talk.

Someone worries ‘What will they think?” if our dish to pass is less than fabulous. I am guilty of this too.  For a week we will wrack our brains trying to remember what we have made for other parties. “Honey, did we make already  the dates stuffed with apricots and pistachios wrapped in bacon?”  We will swoon if we hear “Oh, I remember this, you made it last time!” (bitch).

Thanksgiving food is usually plain and repetitive. This may be good enough for family,  straights, and other less fabulous folk, but not for queers or neurotics hung up on what everyone thinks. Something ‘plain’ won’t suffice a meeting of the Phoenix chapter of the Sugar Plum Fairies. I’ve seen Project Runway – I know how this goes.  A ho-hum    dip or shrimp cocktail or (worse) cheese-whiz on crackers will get us voted ‘out’ in a flash.

Oh the shame.

So we are going through our cookbooks trying to come up with something different. Martha Stewart, not Betty Crocker is the gay man’s cooking goddess.

Perhaps staying at home with a TV dinner is OK after all.

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