Dinner For One

I had to use Uncle Tom's pocket handkerchief to wipe down my knife, which seemed rather tasteless, but the turkey was beginning to get cold, and _my_ was it worth it.

Following my little outburst, my family didn't exactly make scintillating dinner guests, but I wasn't going to let that dampen the mood. I never was one for idle chit-chat - I've always believed a good meal speaks for itself.

After one bite of the succulent flesh I looked up to gauge my family's reaction, but none of them seemed to be in the mood for critiquing the cuisine. I'm afraid that wasn't good enough. I always like to know whether my guests are happy with their meals.

Always.

"Polly?" I asked, turning to my fiancée.

There was no reply.

_"Polly? Answer me when I speak to you!"_

It was then that I noticed the fog that seemed to have crept into her eyes, and the blood that was soaking the tablecloth.

I finished my meal in silence, and when the men in uniform finally arrived I was ready.

"Turkey, gentlemen?"