He’s Not That Thankful for the Extra Table Setting

The news is both good and bad. The Grocery Store Bagger has moved out of the house. Unfortunately he took the daughter with him.

The Bagger and daughter called collect to say it was a false alarm, and the wife is not about to become a grandmother. The Bagger assured us, though, that practice makes perfect.

The Notre Dame daughter, meanwhile, jumped at the chance to have her dog, Irish, fixed, and she wonders why she can’t get a date.

Miami is playing Dallas today, but the wife thinks it would be a nice change to eat with the TV off.

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HAPPY THANKSGIVING, I guess. The newspaper considers it a day off, which will delight the Clippers, but I’ll have to be home all day with the family.

I thought athletes were tough to deal with at times, but if you only knew the negotiations that took place with the happy/sappy couple to determine with whom and where they would be spending their first married holiday. I guess I shouldn’t have insisted on them separating for the day.

Someone suggested that we invite the in-laws to join us too, but it was someone who has never met the in-laws.

I’m hoping this means the in-laws get the happy/sappy couple for Christmas, so we can cut down on the number of Tommy Lasorda Bobbleheads we intend to buy as Christmas gifts for all of our family and few friends. The little nephews are going to love them because they look just like jolly old Santa Claus dressed in a baseball uniform.

As for what happens on Easter, July 4 and Father’s Day, I’m told a lot depends on who buys the beer. At least that’s what the daughter says. I told you she takes after her mother.

It seems to me life was a lot easier before the wife sent the daughter to the grocery store to buy frozen Tater Tots a few years back only to return home with you know who.

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THE THANKSGIVING dinner table is going to be set for five for the first time in our house. Somehow I resisted the urge to invite Kevin Brown over for Thanksgiving dinner last year.

A year ago it was just the four of us, and without anyone saying anything about it, I guess everyone knew it would never be the same again. We just sat there at the table long after dinner was over telling stories, laughing and doing everything we could to not let the family moment end.

It also could have been the tryptophan from the turkey, I guess, and everyone was too lazy to get up and wash the dishes, but I remember it differently now.

Both daughters were single, and still my little girls at the time. The remote control was right where it belonged. No one had to be asked to remove his baseball cap at the dinner table. No one was carelessly throwing the word “grandpa” around. And no one talked as if they knew who was going to win the Cowboy game except for the guy at the head of the table who really knows these things.

The wife burned the rolls, a Thanksgiving tradition. The candles were lit so no one would notice just how burnt the rolls were, and so everyone could slip the burnt pieces under the table to Ralphie, the other dog in the family. Ralphie eats anything.

When it came time for dessert, everyone said they were too full because they knew who had made the pies. Eventually Ralphie would get dessert, and as long as the wife didn’t lean to the left, I could still catch the football score in the upper corner of the muted TV. A perfect Thanksgiving day.

But I know now it’s never going to be the same. What do you want to bet the wife tries to impress the new son-in-law today, and we get rolls that aren’t burnt for the first time in 31 years?

Ralphie’s going to be ticked.

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I CAN see what’s coming next: six places at the table. Sports Editor Bill Dwyre now has a license plate holder that reads: “Proud grandpa.” He also qualifies for senior citizen discounts at Denny’s, and if the restaurant provided stickers for that, he’d have one hanging proudly in his back window.

On the days when he comes to work, he brings photos of his grandchild, and I guess you’re supposed to bore everyone like that when you get one, but what if the daughter someday has a kid that looks just like the Bagger? Would you really want to show people something like that?

I’m worried now that’s all I’m going to think about today when I come to the dinner table and look at the guy stuffing his face with mashed potatoes and yams.

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THAT’S NOT the only problem. He’ll probably want to make small talk when I ask him to sit up, and make some room for me on the couch so I can watch some football. I just know at some point I’m going to regret not going to the Clipper game tonight for some peace and quiet.

There’s one more family tradition that’s going to be put to the test. The wife started this corny thing where everyone is supposed to list everything they were thankful for in the past year before they can eat.

It’s a good thing dogs can’t talk, because I don’t imagine Irish would have much to say right about now, but for one day a year, the wife insists that everyone has to say something nice about everyone else sitting at the Thanksgiving table.

I guess more than anything else, that’s what has me so concerned, now that the table has been set for five.

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TODAY’S LAST word comes in e-mail from Jacob:

“The Trojans are going to the Sugar Bowl in New Orleans, and I can just see you and [USC President Steven] Sample and Mike Garrett skipping arm-in-arm together down Bourbon Street.”

I see you’ve gotten a head start on us.

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T.J. Simers can be reached at t.j.simers@latimes.com.