Ham. Yam. Sam. Remember a similar sound from the stories you read to your children or grandchildren? Seuss knew his stuff. Enough.
Okay, so today as Christmas Eve looms, I am off to seek out a small ham, Sam What Am. Not too big and not too salty, and just right. And then some yams Sam. Yams What Am. Not too big, nor too small but just right to go with the Ham What Am.
Of cloves there will be none Sam. I spent too many holidays plunging those little suckers into whatever flesh was waiting to be basted, broiled or cooked. Sam. Of Anjou pears there will be plenty. Red skins, juicy, sweet. The table soon to be set with a cloth of red and white, a table for two Sam. Me and my daughter but not you Sam. Your manners are naught. One wears shoes to our table and one does not wear a napkin upon one’s head. Sam, you will get no ham.
The stockings two are hung but not on the fireplace mantle, for of that we have none. We have no stocking marked with an S Sam..that would be your stocking of which there is none. Two will do.
Whew I just returned from ham shopping, Sam What Am. Heaps of hams in a big bin at the grocery store. One such ham had your name on it. Emblazoned across the front was “SAM’s Choice.” I guess this means it was Sam Walton’s choice. He was the founder of Wal-Mart.
Anyway, the ham looked good enough to eat, Sam. Wrapped in sparkling purple-foil packaging, it had a kind of aura of something Royals would select. On my kitchen counter are two yams Sam. Both fairly equal in size. Actually I don’t like yams Sam, but they go with ham, Sam. And I can glaze the ham with jam Sam. Sugarless orange marmalade.
Perhaps I should invite you to dine with us, though I fear I won’t have time to whip up a batch of Green Eggs, but according to Seuss, you don’t care for them here, there or anywhere. Hold it. The year is 1960 and you changed your fickle mind.
Pass the peas please, and give Sam an extra slice of ham….now about that napkin on your head….