Christmas Kitsch (Hol) (Mm)
““I’m saying it’s too long!” Oliver snapped. “You don’t understand how bad these things get!”
“And I’m saying give it time. Jesus, Oliver, you were always so patient as a kid, and you’re going to blow it now?”
I rolled out of Oliver’s bed partially clothed and yelled, “Fifteen minutes per pound!”
There was the pounding of feet down the hallway, and Oliver poked his head into the room. I was standing up, looking blearily around, wondering when I’d taken my jeans and sweater off in the night.
“What?” he said, eyes huge.
“That’s how long you cook a turkey.”
“Oookay.” He looked really confused.
“Isn’t that what you and your dad were arguing about?”
Oliver laughed a little. “Uhm, yeah. Sure. How about you come into the kitchen, and we’ll give you some coffee, and we’ll do the math.”
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