Flushed with success, our hero basks in smugness

Cooked our own Thanksgiving dinner and it was, if I might be allowed a moment of brief self-satisfaction, frigging amazing. Not completely sure what happened, but everything came together nicely: the roast potatoes were parboiled to perfection and then roasted to peaks of perfection in the oven, crispy and golden, with a soft, welcoming interior; the turkey, juicy and moist, tasted of paradise; the carrots were al dente, the Brussels sprouts crunchy, the beans fresh and bursting with flavour; the gravy was lumpless and fluid; the red cabbage sweet, the cranberry sauce tart.
 
After that, flush with success, I graciously allowed Ottawacker Jr. to access the Harry Potter films again, and we were entertained by the two-and-a-half-hours of overacting that is Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Ottawacker Jr. loved it (and so did I, especially when I invented a new game: on how many different parts of Daniel Radcliffe’s face can the scar appear?)
 
During dessert, which took place during the film, Ottawacker Jr. had another coughing fit, thereby pretty much guaranteeing his absence from school tomorrow. He had the good grace to look sad about it.