Older than Christ

My dear friend Sabrina turned 34 today. Like many gorgeous women her age, she worries unnecessarily about getting older ... what it might mean.

She told us several horror stories tonight over hors d'ouvres and aperitifs as we waited for the bird to roast -- which it did, exquisitly, as you can see. Her most recent experience involved her unknowingly volunteering for an event only to find they wanted her to wash and prep for the pit "enough chickens to feed black folks for eleven hours."

An older black lady in the kitchen was shocked to learn that Sabrina (at the ripe age of 34) didn't know that chickens came in whole and had to be cleaned. "How do you clean your chicken at home?" the lady asks Sabrina with a puzzled look on her face. "I take the boneless, skinless chicken breast out of the bag, rinse it in cool water and season it," she replied.

Sabrina was so repulsed by the site of 800 raw chickens (their gizzards, necks and giblets piling higher by the second) that she opted instead to do yard work. Dressed, of course, inappropriately for any of the afore mentioned tasks.

Then she told us that her uncle was knocked out of his casket by two grief-stricken, tongue-speakin' aunts at his funeral. She and her brother were next in the viewing line and had a great view of the entire spectacle. I mention this as a head's up: If you die, Sabrina probably won't come to your funeral.

Oh, and did you now she was born on the floor of first class on a jet that had just moments before landed at Boston Logan? AND did you also know that she is now officially older than Christ?