Does it make it any less happy if the greetings were, like, four days late? How pointless, how universal, but let me go on ahead: Belated Happy Thanksgiving Day. I didn't get that, but it sounded appropriate, if not polite. I'm actually laughing at myself for saying that because the construction sounded dumb. And, by the same token, if any of you had birthdays I missed, then Belated Happy Birthday.
We don't do Thanksgiving here in the Philippines because, aside from the family we're born with and created for ourselves, there's nothing Filipino to be real thankful for. Hell, for all its worth, I should be thanking them Americans for the kinky call centering job that's been sustaining me rich all these years. Thank you America.
The closest we can get to festive poultry here in the third world is a cultural roasted treat that is Andok's. It's chicken ala rotisserie, and it's one of the best things your 220 pesos can occasion. Blah, look at me, I'm talking chicken, and I don't sound like I'm enjoying it. I'd rather talk about poultry that's common to all us hopelessly addicted smokers, so allow me.
The closest I got to going cold turkey were dead in the water promises that this last stick will be the last cigarette I'll be repairing to for comfort. Trouble is, I got too comfortable to the point that I began compromising; the last stick then became the last soft pack of Marlboro Lights. There's this one time I promised to go cold turkey on one particular New Year's Eve. I promised to abandon the habit next year, thinking that it's going to be in the next 24 hours anyway. I'm telling you, that resolution was so delayed, I said to myself I'm quitting the habit "this day next year." We're probably in the same boat with this short-lived bird hunt, that's you, my reader with nicotine stains, and my person, but unlike you, I didn't mind the withdrawal symptoms because I didn't have the resolve enough to experience actual withdrawal symptoms.
The second closest I got to going cold turkey were Google search results.