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The day after Thanksgiving is for sleeping.

Residual traces of tryptophan and bubbles from sparkling wine linger inside.

Last night, I had a dream

that I found a book

that told me

how to use marketing principles

to convert male friends into boyfriends.

As I reached to pull the book off the shelf

I woke up

and realized I was hungry for leftovers.

Too many steps stood between me and the kitchen

and I decided to resume dreaming.

In my haze of mashed potatoes

and cranberry sauce

I slid down a slide

made of whipped cream

and lollygagged in pools of pumpkin pie.

Thanksgiving is a day for eating and giving thanks.

The day after Thanksgiving is for sleeping.

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