THANKSGIVING (Seated are me, my parents, my grandmother, cousins Alvin, Sarah Louis and Harry. Before us is the Thanksgiving spread.) Cousin Sarah: (In an annoying singsong voice) Who wants the wishbone? Louis and Harry and Alvin: I do. Me: Everyone wants the danged thing, but what's the point? You know you won't get it. It's like when you were a kid and you put a quarter in the machine for the plastic spy camera, but you never get it, you always get one of those stupid puzzle things instead. You know, where you have to put the numbers in order, but I can't do it--is it six seven or seven six? Shit, I don't know. So I end up breaking it. And I'm happy for a while, I really am. But it doesn't last. That's the problem with the world, nothing lasts. Like sex, or, or dishwashing liquid. And not the cheap stuff either. I'm talking Dove, Ivory, Palmolive. . . Sarah: You're soaking in it. Rich: Huh? Sarah: You're soaking in it. I'm soaking in it. We're all soaking in it. Together. Grandma: Shithead. Mom: Loser. Dad: You understand you'll be finding your own way home again.