Geologist? Psychic? With names like that, you KNOW it's gotta be a Woot Exclusive! No one else would come up with names that dumb.

Sylvia was gone. The ghost was gone. The house was sold. And Rod was in his new condo with everything a man of his status needed in the world: a king-sized bed, an indoor jacuzzi, a huge television, and a recliner of his very own. A gentle slide and he was diagonal. Just the way man was meant to be.

In some other life, Rod remembered the day before Thanksgiving being stressful and troublesome. Once upon a time, he'd been the one who sat in the kitchen over a thousand different pots, pre-cooking this and that. Sylvia had poured drinks and laughed in the den, occasionally calling out "Is anything burning, darling?" and cackling. Over the years, Rod had always wondered what it would be like to have a Thanksgiving where he could do nothing but sit and recline.

The first year after the divorce, of course, he had friends invite him over. Pity, love, who knew what they were thinking? All it meant to Rod (though he appreciated them, of course) was another Thanksgiving Eve of cooking a few things to bring, so he didn't look ungrateful. And then the next year, and the year after that, and then, what do you know, it's a tradition!

But this year, completely by accident. Rod was able to refuse all the invites politely. Because he was moving, and how could he be free if he was moving? Secretly, of course, he had plenty of time ... but he also had this new recliner.

And so, today, instead of baking and shopping and stirring and whatever, he was going to sit, and recline, and stare at whatever was on his big television. No Pamela, no Sylvia, no family or beloved friends, just a frozen pizza and pure, pointless, incredibly self-centered comfort.

Rod was sure something weird would happen to him soon enough. But today, in his recliner, everything was gonna be just fine.

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