thanksgiving at the joneses

Thanksgiving, a one-act play by blythe june jones.

[curtain opens. a family gathers in a cozy san francisco family room off the kitchen née tiny victorian-era drawing room. the aroma of traditional turkey with trimmings fills the air. dining table, center stage, is set for the holiday meal.]

grandfather: honey, did you remember to bring my dirty socks over to wash, so i have clean socks for tomorrow?

grandmother: [chopping celery vigorously] why would i have it on my checklist today to bring your dirty socks over to wash?

great-grandmother: i know. let's pretend it's 1929. give me your socks, i'll wash them in the bathroom sink, and we'll hang them in front of the fire to dry.

daddy: i'm not sure i want dirty socks hanging in front of the fire to dry. we're already packing six adults, a baby, and three dogs into our 1200 sq. foot flat. perhaps we could run out to the shops on a national holiday and purchase more socks.

grandparent's 15-year old swiss exchange student: it is not clear. why did you not just pack more socks?

grandparent's dog: woof

our dog: woof

the dog we're dogsitting for friends: woof woof

mommy: [making salad, mouth agape]

me: [clapping, sticking fingers in mommy's mouth]

[curtain falls]