Dear Butch,

The eve of Thanksgiving brings long lines at the grocery store of frantic amateur chefs and tents occupied by eager bargain hunters lined up neatly outside of big box department stores.  It is the biggest night of partying by college students, home for a few days to meet up with childhood friends and conquer a mountain of laundry sans quarters.  Firefighters are prepping for a busy day of garage fires caused by morons who attempt to deep fry a half-frozen turkey.

On this eve, my thoughts are on you.  The butch without a family, either by choose or by circumstance.  The butch whose family lives states away.  The butch whose family no longer speaks to her.  The butch going through a bad breakup and just can’t face the questions about what happened.  The butch who has to work Black Friday and needs the sleep to survive the crowds.

My thoughts and love are with you tonight and throughout this holiday season.  My heart reaches out to yours and wants it to know that if I was there I would make you a feast fit for a king, fit for you.  Prepared with compassion and humor, with a dash of naughtiness.  Know that I am here and that I care.  That I am your family, forever and always.

Tonight, on the eve of Thanksgiving, I am thankful for you.  My beloved butch.



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