Tracking Down The Turkey
Four malls, eight supermarkets and not a single turkey in sight. Under each huge sign that announced 'Christmas Turkey' lay an empty container. Not even a gobble was left. Which was to be exepected 72 hours before Christmas. Except that my parents hadn't expected it. So there I was running around the Klang Valley like a headless turkey looking for a bird. Just one bird.
Afer speed walking through three malls, I sank into the seat across Tinselbits and fell upon my roast chicken with great relief. She remarked that I should perhaps try another mall. She had seen eight turkeys there just a while ago. By the time we got there, the container was empty. Uwilling to believe that EIGHT (her emphasis, not mine) birds could be snapped up within the hour, she proceeded to interrogate the staff, convinced they had purposely hidden the birds so they could sell them at double the price on Christmas Eve. From the looks on their faces, that idea hadn't even crossed their minds. But I bet they now wish it had.
The closest I came to getting my hands on a turkey was when another woman and I were pawing through a cluster of five birds. They were huge and we both sensed that the other was looking for the same sized bird. As we flipped over each weight tag, we shot a hurried look at the tag the other was holding, hoping desperately it wasn't the perfect size. Alas, none of them were.
At the end of the futile hunt, Tinselbits dished out an unexpected compliment. She said she had gotten caught up in the spirit of Christmas too because our hunt reminded her of Christmas comedies. Particularly those in which the father/mother remembers his son's/daughter's present on the night before Christmas and tears down the entire city looking for the last one. Her only complaint was that there was no catfight in our drama.
Perhaps next year.
Afer speed walking through three malls, I sank into the seat across Tinselbits and fell upon my roast chicken with great relief. She remarked that I should perhaps try another mall. She had seen eight turkeys there just a while ago. By the time we got there, the container was empty. Uwilling to believe that EIGHT (her emphasis, not mine) birds could be snapped up within the hour, she proceeded to interrogate the staff, convinced they had purposely hidden the birds so they could sell them at double the price on Christmas Eve. From the looks on their faces, that idea hadn't even crossed their minds. But I bet they now wish it had.
The closest I came to getting my hands on a turkey was when another woman and I were pawing through a cluster of five birds. They were huge and we both sensed that the other was looking for the same sized bird. As we flipped over each weight tag, we shot a hurried look at the tag the other was holding, hoping desperately it wasn't the perfect size. Alas, none of them were.
At the end of the futile hunt, Tinselbits dished out an unexpected compliment. She said she had gotten caught up in the spirit of Christmas too because our hunt reminded her of Christmas comedies. Particularly those in which the father/mother remembers his son's/daughter's present on the night before Christmas and tears down the entire city looking for the last one. Her only complaint was that there was no catfight in our drama.
Perhaps next year.
posted by starlight at 6:18 AM
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