Any good Thanksgiving is bound to get a little heated. You need a Vornado to cool off the kitchen- and anywhere else you might run into family stress.
Brant sat on one end of the dining room table. Lesley's mother sat at the other. Lesley was in the middle, closer to her side.
Lesley's mother took a long, hard glare at Brant. "I want you ... to spell my daughter's name."
Brant sighed. It wasn't even two in the afternoon and he was already ready for bed.
"Why don't we turn on the fan?" Lesley offered. "It's the latest, most efficient design. The Vornaaaaado."
Brant didn't say a word about her pronunciation. Lesley's mother tapped her cane against the floor.
"Spell it!" she ordered. "Spell it right now!"
Brant rolled his eyes and looked at Lesley. She shrugged with an indifferent glee. Brant looked back at Lesley's mother.
"You want me to spell it?"
Lesley's mother nodded. "Spell the name! Only then will I serve your my green bean casserole!"
Brant stared the old woman down. "V-O-R-N-A-D-O. Pronounced like 'tornado.'"
"AAAAA!" Lesley screamed, bursting into tears and running into the bedroom. Lesley's mother didn't say anything.
Brant didn't say anything either. The house was quiet, except for the barely noticeable sound of excellent air circulation, and the gentle sobs from the bedroom.
Finally, Lesley's mother broke the silence. "That's how it's spelled on her birth certificate, you know."
"Really?" Brant asked with possibly too much joy.
"Really. She changed it in high school. Wanted to be different. Always standing her own ground, that one."
Leslie's mother reached for the spoon and scooped out a big serving of green bean casserole.
"Vornado," she agreed. "Like tornado."
"I HATE YOU, MOMMY!" came from the other side of the bedroom door.
Brant raised his glass in victory.