Every year on the Saturday night before Christmas, my mother throws a big holiday party. And every year, it is my job to bring the wings.
I pick them up at Wing Wagon on Flatbush Avenue--100 wings: 50 mild, 50 hot--and march the 8 blocks or so to my mom's house carrying them as if presenting a gift to a visiting dignitary. There is no other way to do it; they weigh about 20 lbs, and so I carry them with my forearms, palms upturned.
I'm like the Angel Gabriel, but with hot sauce.
(Incidentally, the Annunciation might have gone even better had the Annuncer (?) thought to bring snacks.)
Last night, when I finally arrived at the party, I made little signs to distinguish the trays: "Tender and Mild (like the baby Jesus)" and "Hot & Spicy (like Santa)."
I was going to say "Hot & Spicy (like Satan)," which would have made more sense, but I think it would have have dampened the holiday cheer.