For some of our very favorite (or not so very) Genoa City citizens, though the week was short, it didn't necessary turn out to be all that sweet.
It was a week that included a day usually set aside for all to give fervent thanks for everything good that exists in their lives, be that family, friends, or plenty of food, while silently hoping that whatever blessings they had would continue to increase. Casting their eyes upward or downward, whatever the case may be, our friends and foes should have been properly grateful they were who they were and not some other less fortunate soul.
But some might say one can't have the good without enduring at least some bad. Or one can't smilingly savor the sweet without having to suffer through the sour. And as it is in real life, so is it also in make believe land.
Victoria had no real big reason to suspect the sweetness she tasted on Brad's lips wouldn't continue. But although she isn't quite ready to concede defeat to it, there is a tiny little fly buzzing annoyingly among the happy, pink petaled posies she clutches. And her name is Abby Stepford, I mean, Carlton. Okay, to be completely accurate, there is another, much bigger reason the clouds may soon move in to turn her bright future all dismal and grey. One exactly the size and shape of her someone-feel-sorry-for-me, sister-in-law. And if either the big or little reason have anything to do with it, Victoria's sweet sojourn with her big, strong knight will eventually turn unpleasantly tangy.
When she isn't whining about or boo-hooing brokenly over her negligent Nick or deceased daughter, Sharon, too, is longingly savoring the sweet sensation of Brad's lips pressed lustfully against hers, though for now she must settle for doing so through full color flashbacks. Though, to be fair, flashbacks and fantasies are about all she has these days since her husband seems in no hurry to build any bridges to cross the yawning emotional chasm between them. But then, when you flip through the pages of this marital pair's past history, being at emotional odds seems to be more the norm than the exception. For this often contentious couple, if it's not one thing, it's definitely something, or more specifically, someone, another. The current CD is really just another replay of the same old song they slap on the player from time to time. For reasons that supposedly vary, but in the end wind up being the exact same one, the ewe or the ram slips the marital noose from around their necks so they can sample what smells like sweeter hay in some other pasture. Sharon claims to miss her mate's undivided attention, yet it's a good thing he doesn't inadvertently stumble across the path of one of those scorching lasers she constantly shoots at Brad; or he'd likely be incinerated on the spot. And Nick, though he tosses around all the right adjectives, you know the ones like amazing, beautiful, wonderful, etc., often the gaze he turns on his bride seems more appraising then appreciative.
And finally we have the third point of this tempestuous triangle, Brad, who, thanks to the extreme neediness of the majority of Genoa City women, can pretty much wake up each morning and play a quick game of eenie, meenie, minie, moe, in order to pick which lipstick coated Newman mouth will get his personal attention that day. Forgive me for not feeling at all sympathetic toward the man who so obviously wants both a generous slice of the Newman pie as well as a big chunk of Newman cake piled on his plate. When it comes to the Victoria pie, I often wonder why he's bothering (okay, so I don't wonder long before a couple of reasons, namely power and prestige leap immediately to my suspicious mind) since most of the time Brad looks more pained than pleased when allegedly enjoying Victoria's full and adoring attention. By contrast, Brad's so obviously entranced by Sharon, I keep expecting him to say Victoria Who? Of course, Brad might want to ponder long and hard before sitting too long on Sharon's wall. Because just like Humpty Dumpty, at least two of the foolhardy men who once perched there wound up taking very great and ultimately fatal falls.
For the moment, Gloria is drawing very sweet breaths indeed. The woman who regularly twists truth into a veritable pretzel has dodged yet another rubber bullet and once again it doesn't appear likely she'll face any real consequences for her fabricating actions. I swear she has more lives than even the most fortunate of felines. Realizing her husband would soon have her backed into a cramped, uncomfortable corner, Gloria slipped on her most penitent puppy dog face and told him most of her tawdry tale. Omitting, of course, the most damaging segment of the story, the part about her bigamous behind still being legally linked to Tom's. She spread it on so thick, I had to press pause to fetch my waders in order to muddle my way through the manure she mixed with a few grains of truth. Yes, fear was definitely a part of the equation made up of her and Tom, but in my opinion the piece labeled self preservation was a bigger part. I admit John's long-awaited reaction was a bit of a letdown. And though it would have been nice to see Gloria squirming like a mouse with its lying tale caught in a trap, I guess this was the only way things could go. Because it's not as if I would really like to see John alone and lonely again. And self-preservationist though she definitely is, her antics are a welcome change from the Abbotts and their unrelenting corporate infighting.
If Tom had anything to be thankful for, both he and I were hard pressed to ferret it out. Everywhere he turned, doors were slammed rudely in his face. Just as he got the tips of his fingers on it, Michael snatched away his get out of jail free card. And as it turned out when he took a moment to check, the necklace he hoped to barter for it had been spirited away as well. And if his short week hadn't been trying enough, it only got worse when he decided to surprise Ashley with flowers accompanied by perfectly awful prose. I guess no one ever told him the one about how eavesdroppers seldom hear good about themselves. But whether he was familiar with that well-known cliché or not, what he heard was how deeply the very sight and sound of him disgusted Ashley. And Tom also experienced the truth of another cliché as well. The one that swears history often repeats itself. Once again, romance with the girl from the wealthy side of the train tracks has eluded him.
Oh well, there's always Sheila, who never met a mortal she couldn't somehow use to further her own diabolical ends. Now that her boast of being Tom's only friend has proven to be prophetic, I don't imagine it will take much persuasion to convince Tom to partner with her in her quest to squash Lauren. As always, sweet success was Sheila's to savor as she once again triumphed over her enemies by delivering a necklace so squeaky clean, the best lab equipment GC had to offer couldn't detect a thing. Oh were oh where is a decent CSI team when you need one? And that's not the only rabbit our She-devil was able to pull from beneath her Egyptian lady wig. For the umpteenth time, she easily pulled the wool over Scott's gullible eyes, who was assigned a word that began with "S" and ended with tupid. Even with all her odd behavior, Scott still has not even a hint that the stench that permeates Brenda's room seeps from her rotten soul. The weirdo vibes were rolling off the woman in waves, what with her comment of her coming excitement the moment Scott returned home to Toronto and her babble about the new chapter in their lives that would then be able to begin. Thankfully, for now we will be spared any further incidents of Scott's extreme obtuseness as he swallowed hook, line and sinker her story of returning to Toronto without him. Unfortunately, for us, we now know that Jennifer is remaining in her place.
As far as Thanksgiving dinners went, there were only a few to speak of. Crimson Lights hosted what I assume was the community dinner which in prior years was held at the Homeless Shelter. Kay, Esther and Jill obviously decided not to participate this year and presumably had a quiet dinner at home.
The Winters were without Lily, but Devon and Yolanda helped fill the empty spaces at the table. At least I think they did. Because when last we saw them, they were delivering an overflow of the famous Hamilton 7-layer bars to the Crimson Lights celebration and appeared to be sticking around to help out.
The Abbotts were having a celebration of their own, adding Lauren and Michael, but minus regular Abbott table diners, Daniel and Phyllis, who picked the exact right time to drop in on the Newmans with their olive branch of an apple pie. Although I wracked my brain unmercifully, I was unable to remember a time Noah became so well acquainted with Daniel, he begged his family to invite them to their table. But be that as it may, after leaving the final decision up to Sharon, who when finding herself spotlit in the hot spot, really couldn't comfortably demur, the Newman family obliged. But with Nick more interested in chatting up Phyllis than he was the wife by his side, along with the indirect reason Cassie wasn't giggling across the table chatting up her son, not unexpectedly, it was all just a wee bit more than Sharon could take and she ran for refuge from the family table. Although no one else seemed to notice, it literally took everything Brad had in him to restrain himself from chasing after her. It seems obvious that new bonds are about to be formed between Daniel, Nick and Noah which is sure to push Sharon even further out of the family circle and directly into Brad's protective path.
I know November's almost over, but that doesn't mean the good old bad times are about to end. There's still the upcoming Fenmore-Baldwin nuptials for Sheila to disrupt. Add to that Tom's understandable desire for revenge and you have a pot that's poised to boil over and burn everyone in its vicinity.
I hope you all had a perfectly lovely Thanksgiving. See you next week. Fans, your turn.